Trips for Days n' Days...

Whassup team?

Lately I've been branching out a little in the exploration of my surroundings. Everything here is so easily accessible (cause it's all so darn close together), so there's no reason for me to restrict my eyeballin' of tourist sites to Edinburgh.

Two weeks ago I had to pop down to Newcastle (an English city about an hour and a half south of Ed-Rock) for a work meeting. All new hires in my company (including Yours Truly) are paired up with a mentor from a management position to talk about things like life goals and how cool trains are. My mentor is Bob of Newcastle; he's in charge of making sure that train drivers know the things they're supposed to know. I had a great time hanging out with Bob. We drank tea, talked about ourselves and debated with his co-workers about whether a Geordie (Newcastle) or Cockney (London) accent was more charming. Then Bob let me play with the TRAIN DRIVING SIMULATOR, which was AWESOME. I drove a fake train all the way from fake London to fake Stevenage through a fake snowstorm! And I didn't injure even a single fake person. It was a blast! If anyone out there doesn't know what to do with their lives, consider driving a train - they have horns to toot and all kinds of fun buttons and levers!

After our official meeting was over, Bob gave me a mini-tour of the centre of Newcastle, then we bid each other farewell. Since I didn't have any reason to rush back to Edinburgh, I decided to spend my afternoon bumping around town. Newcastle is best known (or, should I say, "infamous"?) for its lively [and messy] nightlife. But, as it turns out, it's pretty fun in the daylight hours too. I poked around the university campus for a bit; it's all imposing stone buildings, airy courtyards and fairtrade lunchtime mini-markets, much as you'd expect an English university to be. After a bit more of a wander, I found myself at the Cathedral of St. Nicholas. Instead of a standard steeple, it has this cool, intricate open-arched, spiky dome thing on top. If you can't visualize that, it's okay, I captured it through the more accurate medium of photography. The inside of the cathedral was dark and grand, as such places often are. I was the only person in there for most of my visit. The information signs were better than in most churches, so I probably learned something while I was there, although thanks to my sieve of a memory, I'd be hard-pressed now to tell you what that was. In general, St. Nicholas' seemed to be more friendly and less judgey than the bulk of churches I've visited. Given further thought, this makes sense; it is, after all, a church dedicated to Santa Claus, the king of friendly dudes. Normally I don't leave a donation when I go to visit a church, but in this case I made an exception - I really enjoyed exploring this place, so I thought it was worth some of my monies. Besides, I'm not gonna be the one to snub Santa - I know upon which side my bread is buttered.

See? Spiky, archy church roof thing

Spiky, archy church roof in semi-silhouette

Inside the Santa Church

I really liked the understatedness and the nauticaliness of this stained-glass window

I figured, being in Newcastle as I was, I should go and see the new castle. It's not a very big castle, unlike the one in Edinburgh (Edinburgh - 1; Newcastle - 0), and it's not really all that new either. It's more like an old fort. But it wouldn't do to call a city OldFort - that's too close to "Old Fart," and where's the dignity in that? Anyway, it's still pretty cool-looking. Only the gatehouse was open to visitors while I was there. The castle itself is being refurbished and will re-open next month. When it does, I'm defs going back to Newcastle to chekkit, chekkit out.

Ye Olde New Castle

After castle time, I strolled down a kinda-hidden stone staircase and found myself beside the Tyne, Newcastle's resident river. It was a lovely, sunny day, so I spent a good 15 minutes lounging on a riverside bench, just watching dogs and old people run by. Then me tummy started a-rumblin', so I found a jazzy resto - The Slug and Lettuce - with a good view of the river and noshed on a falafel wrap.

The city's full name is Newcastle-on-Tyne, but no one says that 'cause of lazy

Sated and educated, I headed back to the train station. I still had a bit of time before my ride showed up, so I decided to lend my custom to the Centurion, the stylish old-timey bar (highly recommended by Bob) that was attached to the station. I wrapped up my day with a tasty bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale. A poetically fitting end to a beauty day trip.

Shout-out to the nice Romanian bartender who lent me some books, probably cause he thought I was lonely

About a week after my trip to Newcastle, I was bestowed with an unexpected day off work. I decided that the best use of my surprise free time would be to go on a FIELD TRIP! SO I flicked through my well-worn Edinburgh city guidebook and settled on going to Rosslyn Chapel. If you participate in pop culture at all, you many have heard of this place; it's the setting of the final, revelatory scene in The Da Vinci Code. A teensy weensy bit of my interest in visiting the chapel was based on that. But mostly, I just wanted to go cause I heard it was hecka pretty.

First view of the chapel

Rosslyn Chapel, funnily enough, is situated in the village of Roslin, which lies on the outskirts of Edinburgh near a collection of big ol' hills called the Pentlands. Roslin is accessible by city bus meaning that: a) it was far enough to feel like I was doing something out of the ordinary, but not so far that the commute sucked up my day and; b) the travel was cheap. Which was good, because the entrance fee at the chapel was not. But I'd say that the visit was worth the seven pounds, and the money goes back into conservation of the chapel, so it's all gooood, gooood.

Look at all the buttresses! Heh heh... I said "butt"...

This is the same day, just a couple of hours later. Scotland weather - so change-y!
When I took this photo, I had almost just walked Widdershins around the chapel! It's by a matter of a inches that I didn't end up stuck in Elfland!

The chapel was smaller than I had expected, but it was packed to the literal rafters with sculptures. And every single one of those sculptures had some sort of biblical or historical significance. It was sculpture-licious. The chapel even has its own sculpture-related murder story. At the back of the chapel, there are two ornately-carved stone pillars: the Master Pillar and the Apprentice Pillar. The story goes that the stone-carving master carved the first pillar and it was pretty nice, certainly nothing to sneeze at, so he was pretty proud of it. After carving it, he went away for a bit, to source materials or for a stay at his time-share or something. While he was gone, the apprentice thought, "Man, the master's pillar is some nice, I wonder if I could do something like that." So the apprentice carved the second pillar. And his pillar turned out BEE-YOO-TI-FUL. Like, hella stunning. It has flower spirals coming out of the mouths of dragons and all kinds of symbolism and stuff. When the master got back and saw how fab the apprentice's work was, he did not act graciously at all. He flipped his lid. In his rage, he took a carving tool and booshed the apprentice over the head with it and that was the end of the apprentice. Bad, bad master.

The Master Pillar - pretty nice, right?

The Apprentice Pillar - Wowee!! Now that's some pillar!

A lovely and knowledgeable lady gave a little overview of the chapel for us visitors. You could tell that she was well-versed in Freeman Tilden's principles of interpretation (the tour guides here know what I'm talkin' 'bout). She was droppin' links like they were going out of style. And she was appealin' to cognitive, emotive and sensory learners. That was some boss interpreting, lady.

The most important part of my visit was when I met William, the Rosslyn Chapel Cat. He just sort of hangs round there and gets love showered upon him. Which, I suppose, is the way of cats.

William says "Meow," which means "Hello" in Cat. It also means everything else in Cat too. 

William even has his own branded mug! He's the real deal. 

Well, that's about all I've got on my recent day trips. Wasn't that fun?



Last thing: Just got some hugely exciting news - my sister is coming to visit me next month! Between that and a certain Élyse coming over to this side of the ocean in May, my visit calendar is filling up quickly. Book now if you want to reserve time with me before September!

But actually, having said that, if any of you feel like experiencing the Edinburgh Festival in August (which just happens to be the biggest arts festival in the world, no big deal), you'd have a free place to stay (with me) and have someone to show you around (also me)... Think about it!

A million love to you all!

This... Is... SPARTA!!!

Hola team! Just a quick li'l note to mark a milestone - today it is exactly 300 days since I left Canada! As is often the way of adventures, it feels both like so much has happened and also like nothing has changed. Wow! Paradoxical!

Someone (shout-out to Someone!) suggested that to celebrate the occasion, I should have a 300 party and make everyone watch Gerard Butler do sit-ups on-screen. (Get it? 300? Sparta? The title of this post? Yesss.). It occurred to me that, being Scottish, Gerard Butler spends bits of his time in areas of the world near to where I am now. I know this is true, because my friend works at Starbucks and served him once and I think it took about a week for her to be able to talk in full sentences again. So, in light of this information, this is an open invitation for Gerard Butler to come do sit-ups to celebrate my 300 days. Swing by whenever you can, Gerry! BYOB though, I can't afford to give free alcohol to every movie star who walks through my door.

I've been invited to Mickie's party?! Awww yisssssss

Kid-a-rooneys! I've been hand-writing some longer posts during break times at work, and I hope to be able to get some of them online next week.

Muchas smoochas!

Ol' Mickie's New Routine

Hullo hullo, me lovelies!

I am writing this post from a corner window seat at The Purple Pig Café. I've walked by this neat-looking little spot many times on my way to work. I've been meaning to come in for a while, but I've never had the opportunity. And by "never had the opportunity," I mean that up until now, I've spent 98% of my days off in my room and in my jammies. But I've been trying to do things a little bit differently since I've gotten back from my Christmas holiday. I suppose one could frame this shift as a New Year's resolution, but from my point of view, this autumn I had been living in a way that inhibited my happiness and the return from vacation was simply a convenient time to start things afresh. Regardless of how you choose to see it, the upshot is that I am nicely dressed, sipping on a latte and staring directly at a papier mâché purple pig's ass. 

The bum of yon pig is obscured in shadow as his head is gently lit by the early afternoon sun (a.k.a. "Chiar-oink-scuro")

A quick review of the Christmas vacation then: Very, very good. 

Just a little Snap art I did while waiting eight hours for my connecting flight in New Jersey

Of course, that's not all I have to say about Christmas (you know me better than that by now). It was, without question, the right decision to head home for the holiday. It just wouldn't have been the same to spend Christmas without all of the season's traditions like watching Scrooge while trimming the tree, Dad reading The Night Before Christmas, making reindeer food out of oatmeal and sparkles, poring over Where's Waldo-style search-and-find Santa placemats, and of course, spending half an hour chasing each other around the house in take-no-prisoners, parents vs. kids grudge match battle for Christmas supremacy. This year's weapon of choice was Nerf-style guns that shot these little round frisbee-disc thingies. I'm sure my parents are still finding some of the colourful li'l circles in odd spots in the house. 

The Twissmass Twee shines as Astro Boy watches on from the mantel 

My New Year's was fairly tame (probably because Marg was working that night, so she wasn't around to stir up trouble). The 'rents and I ate some finger foods, watched some comedy DVDs that I had brought home for them (Dylan Moran and Rob Brydon) and then when midnight hit, we lit a few sparklers, tooted some tooters and had a group hug. I was in bed by 12:15. It was brilliant. 

A small taste of the wisdom of Dylan Moran

I am still a little annoyed that there wasn't a New Year's concert broadcast for the Atlantic time zone this year. This won't mean anything to anyone who's not from the Canadian Maritimes. But, because we're on our own time zone there, we hit the new year an hour earlier than most of Canada (except for Newfoundland, which just does its own thing). Up until this year, Breakfast Television would film a live concert for the Maritimes featuring Atlantic musicians and hosts. But this year, nada. We searched and searched the TV Guide. The only options we could find were the ones in New York or Niagara Falls, which were both an hour behind us. It made me a little bit sad and a little bit angry. I hadn't realized that I had considered it to be a tradition to have our concert on in the background. And I feel that it was really rude to totally ignore a whole time zone, even if we are a pretty small one. I mean, come on guys. You ought to be nicer to the population who has experience of the future before the bulk of the country. Jumpin' Jaysus. 

Okay, back to the here and almost now. I didn't take on any overtime on my first week back to Scotland. Instead, I used the time to blitz clean my entire apartment and impose a little organization on my life. It felt good to have that all done. And now I have a colour-blocked wardrobe, a shiny new goal board and a very written-in agenda to show for it. Aww yiss, it do feel good. 

Brief side note - I just watched a city truck drive by on and sprinkle salt all over the road. This makes no sense to me as there is no snow or ice anywhere and, as far as I know, none expected to come in the near future. Either someone is being a little over-cautious or they're trying to get local animals to come and lick the road clean. Hard to say. 

This past week I've been back to work as usual, but with a little change to my routine - I've been getting up earlier in order to go to the gym before work in the morning. This has a few benefits: first of all, it turns out that if you work out before you're actually awake, you don't really feel the pain; second, it means that I sleep like a baby when I get home from the trains in the evening; and third, the shower pressure at the gym is a squillion times better than what we have in our flat, so I'm pretty sure that I'm actually cleaner now than I have been for most of the year. I've certainly been able to rinse more conditioner out of my hair at the gym, so it now takes a whole day before it gets stringy, gross and unappealing (instead of the 2 hours' worth of mileage I was getting out of it before). 

But of course, being who I am, I can't just let a good thing be. Just as I have gotten myself into a solid routine, I am about to yank myself right back out of it. A week from today I will be heading back to Ireland for another visit. You may be thinking, 'but Mickie, you've already been to Ireland at least thrice; should you not explore a different part of this great big world?' Well team, time to lay down a little truth. I've been holding something back from you for a while. Or rather, I've been holding it back from those of you who only get news of me from my blog (the rest of you already have most of the details about this, so you can skip this section if you'd like).  The reason that I keep going back to Ireland is that I know someone there. A man. A man-guy. Who is, I suppose, for all intents and purposes currently my man-guy. I mean, I didn't purchase him, so I can't really legally claim possession. But I think you know what I'm getting at. His name is John and he is good. He is Irish. He is a chef so he cooks things. That is a good thing about him. I met him last year when I was on holiday in Ireland. Then I stalked saw him this year when I was on holiday in Ireland again. Then he came to see me in Edinburgh, and so on and so forth. So, it seems that my turn to make the effort has come around once more. Ryanair conveniently put on a good flight deal for a week when I just happened to have six days off in a row. I'll be making the hop over the Irish Sea to Dublin (where he resides) next Monday. Then, after a day watching TV quiz shows and drinking homemade beer with him and his roommates, the two of us will pop down to Cork for a couple of days. In my past visits to Ireland, he and I have gone to every tourist site in Dublin short of the Leprechaun Museum (which he refuses to see out of principle), so to make sure that our conversation doesn't run dry, we realized that we ought to go see other things in other places. Cork is charming and he likes to make fun of the way the people there talk, so it should be a good time. He doesn't know it yet, but I'm gonna make him go to the Cork Butter Museum, which is, as the saying goes, the happiest place on Earth. Disney stole that phrase. Butter had it first. 

Okay, I'm hungry now so I'm gonna stop writing and go eat sumfin'.

Ciao!
(Get it?? Ciao? It sounds like chow! And I'm hungry! Hahahahahahahaha!)

Okay, but really, bye for now.

Missive: Christmas Bliss for this Miss

Greetings and salutations, woefully ignored readers! My deepest and humblest apologies for haven forsaken you for so, so long. The past two months have been a time of highs and lows, activity and sloth, trips away, hotel stays, meeting new people and visits from old friends. Let's jump in, shall we?

Let's go all the way back to the start of October. I did a very grown-up thing: I, Mickie, daughter of Bernice, heir to the Hickman "feed-em-all" dynasty, cooked Thanksgiving Dinner. All by myself. And not a tiny one either. Throwing all caution to the wind, I invited [all of my] 4 friends over to my flat and promised to treat them all to a traditional Canadian Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving isn't celebrated over in these parts, so it was to be a brand new experience for all of them. Preparing the whole thing was a new experience for me too - I had helped Ma with the stuffing and pie before but the turkey had never been left to my charge and I had certainly never been responsible for coordinating and timing the whole shebang. But I am thrilled to say that with a little help from Google - and A LOT of advice texts from Ma - I managed to pull the whole thing off rather successfully (if I do say so myself). I overcooked the broccoli a wee bit and my gravy was a little thin, but considering that my goal for the night was to not give anyone food poisoning, I consider those errors to be forgiveable. Besides, each of my guests was kind enough to bring a bottle of wine, so by the end of the evening, I don't believe anyone was really focused on minute details like those.

Shouldn't be too much work...

The traditional bucket-thaw method used by our ancestors

That's 20 lbs of tasty

Gud Fud

Nature's steamed, roasted, mashed and jellied bounty

Dainty desserts

Courtney, Rachel, Allan and Michael - my brave guinea pigs

Finally at the grown-ups' table!

The bulk of my November was occupied by my training for my new job. In September, I was notified that I had been hired to work as a customer service agent for one of the UK's major train companies. My role officially falls under the category of "on-board catering." Basically, I'm one of the peeps who strolls through the train coaches and offers the passengers tea, coffee and snacks (free for first class, for a small fee if you travel standard like a noob). The classroom training - although full of a lot of corporate "Rah rah! Motivation!" stuff - was actually quite enjoyable. It took place in York (England), which is one of the most charming towns I have yet to come across. It's like a living, Medieval, Gothic-y Christmas card. Brilliant. Best of all, the train company put me up in a hotel during the training, so I got to have a mini-holiday in the off hours. I used my free time to explore York a little bit and to take advantage of the hotel's 24-hour pizza service a lot.

Living in style at the Hampton Inn York

York Minster Cathedral poking its head up to say "Good morning Mickie! Go learn about trains!"

The following two weeks were occupied with the second stage of my training: job shadowing on a real-life, moving, passenger-filled train! I was anxious the first day, but it didn't take too long to get used to the rhythm of the journey. And I didn't even injure anyone, which I had considered an eventuality. I have since officially graduated to the status of full [probationary] employee. This doesn't exempt me from the possibility of injuring anyone, but if I'm lucky, I'll frequently get put on tea- and coffee-making duty, meaning that the only person I could scald, bruise or lacerate (what, you've never cut yourself brewing tea?) would be myself.

I've been thoroughly enjoying the train job so far. The days are about ten and a half hours long, but they fly by. Or chug by, to be accurate. Every day we leave Edinburgh at 11:00, get into London at 14:21 (yes, exactly) and then head back to Ed-Rock at 16:00 (approximately). Everything said and done, I'm usually home on my couch watching Rachel's Netflix by 21:45. It's very surreal to have my lunch break in London every day. In North America, we grow up with this idea of London being this faraway, almost imaginary place in a country that many people only ever dream of visiting. And now suddenly I'm popping down there a couple of days a week and poking around the local shops or grabbing [incredibly addictive] tofu curry from Wasabi in King's Cross Station (I do this more than I should). It's a wiggidy wack world, y'all.

Despite the turkey and the trains, this Autumn hasn't been my happiest time. Although it's nowhere near as cold here as in Ottawa, it is very dark. Yes, Ottawa winter days are short. But it feels like here the daylight hours are virtually non-existent. Maybe I'm right about this or maybe it's just that I'm still trying to get accustomed to this place and I just need something to blame for feeling down. Either way, I've had a really difficult time finding my get up and go lately. I haven't really been able to bring myself to exercise or sightsee or do much of anything other than work and sleep. My hope is that a daytime job will get me back on a healthier sleep schedule than I've had with bar work and I'll be able to make a move back towards my normal self.

Back to happy things! Although I have just spent the previous paragraph whining about the winter blues, I have to admit that Edinburgh does the holiday season pretty darn fabulously. You want lights? You got 'em! Giant Ferris wheel? No problemo! Christmas tree maze, German market, hot apple toddys, two outdoor skating rinks, soft pretzels!!! We've got it all! Really, I wish that you all could be here to see it because it is spectacular. It would look even better with a light dusting of snow, but no sign of that yet. The temperature hasn't even dropped to zero yet, so it looks like Christmas is gonna be brown and rocky here.

Browsing for baubles

Sparkly shinies in Princes St. Gardens

         

       THE CAROUSEL IS A BAR. REPEAT - THE CAROUSEL IS A BAR!

And now for the happiest thing of all! The stars have aligned and they have bestowed upon me the very best of Christmas presents: as the song goes, I'll be home for Christmas!!! YAAAYYYYY!!! Through some creative scheduling (and possibly a bit of dark magic), the rostering lady at my work - the benevolent and talented Liz - has managed to adjust my schedule so that I have a little over a week off, right at the crucial, yuletidey moment. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the financial means to visit my beloved Ottawa companions this time around. It goes without saying that I really wish I could see you all. However, Ma has staked her claim on the bulk of my time. I'll be lucky if I get a chance to see my Dad and sister through her lovingly constrictive bear hugs. So that means it's straight from Edinburgh to NB for me! Well, not exactly straight there...... Since I got my tickets so last-minute, it's a bit of a roundabout route that I'll be taking to get home. On Monday, I leave Edinburgh just after 10h00 (UK time), from which I fly into scenic Newark, New Jersey (woot!). I have a relaxed 8 hour and 20 minute layover there before I board my two-hour flight to Montréal. Once there, I get to wait an easy 10 and a half hours (overnight) to board my plane to Saint John. Forty five minutes in the air will finally bring me to Gate 1 (out of 1) in YSJ where my mother will no doubt have shoved aside staff, children and feeble old ladies in order to be closest to the door to greet me. I am so looking forward to being home. I've done my shopping. I've got my Santa hat. But what I really need in order to feel Christmasy is to be cuddled in front of the fireplace with my family. And eggnog. Apparently they don't "do" eggnog here. Fools.

Lots of love and warm holiday wishes to all of you! I promise [to try] to write again soon!

P.S. I still haven't forgotten that I was chronicling my and Margaret's exploits on our Euro-trip in May. Expect another instalment soon......

My Heart is in Ottawa

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Addendum: The Kindness of Strangers ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A day after I put up the flag and signs in my window, this appeared directly across the street:

Thank you, neighbour and friend. 

A Gallery of Events I Vaguely Remember

Hullo all!

I know that this is quite late in coming, but I just loaded my Canada Day pictures from my phone onto DJ Compy Comp and through this medium I humbly present them for your viewing pleasure.

Of course, there's nothing quite like being in Ottawa for a Canada Day deck-drinking, park-wandering, techno-street-dancing, fireworky extravaganza. But I feel that I did pretty well with the resources that I had over here. I rallied my troops - 2 Canucks (including myself), 4 English peeps and the obligatory Aussie - and we decked ourselves out in our red and white (courtesy of Primark). Then I set to work doing some mad face paint - I did pretty well with the maple leaves if I do say so myself.

The English girls all look slightly unsure about this whole thing...

I MEK ART

I painted dat. Gud werk, Me. 

Danny prepares to suit up . The words "True North" painted on the back of the tee not only describe Canada, but were a suitable epithet for Danny himself, who we sourced from the Northerly bit of England.

I am the Canadavangelist our country deserves.

After 3 or 4 drinks each (with service starting at 10:30 a.m.) we headed out to Sainsbury's to pick up some goods for a BBQ and then climbed the Salisbury Crags in the middle of town to get a panoramic view of the city on that gorgeous, sunny July 1st. By chance, on that very day Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II was having a garden party at Holyrood Palace, which was situated just below our picnic spot. We all waved and I held up my big ol' flag proudly to let it billow in her general direction. We were too far away to see her face, but I could sense her noble nod of approval and fistpump of Commonwealthly solidarity.

Stompin' on the Salisbury Crags

A view down to the waterfront bit of the city known as Leith

An Aussie by the BBQ and a Canuck keeping things cool

Hulloooo Ebindurgh!

Drinking in public parks is acceptable here. Thank you, Scotland!

If there is one thing I am NOT, it is obnoxious.

EYE see you, Danny!

You still here, Ebindurgh?

Always the clever planner, I had thought to bring along my plastic baggie of 300 or so Canada Flag pins (remember the ones that freaked out the security guys at my biometric screening way back when?). We then spent a lovely couple of hours chowing down on sausages (dressed with maple syrup, natch) and handing out flag pins to all passers-by. Most of them were very lovely and indulged our [my] inebriated enthusiasm.

A side note on the cooking of the sausages - We had picked up a disposable BBQ at the grocery store, but it had never occurred to us that grilling generally requires implements such as tongs or spatulae. Fortunately for us, we had adopted the Aussie into our crew. If there's one nationality you want on hand during a barbecuing emergency, it is Australian. He MacGyvered up a system using only a comb and a hair clip to deliver our sausages perfectly cooked in all their porky, syrupy glory. Can you imagine, most of the crew were shocked to learn that you could put maple syrup on sausages?! My response: "duh." It's a classic sweet+salty. Always a winning combo.

After our meal, we did a quick stop back at the bar where I had just started working. My recollections become a little hazy at this point, but I do remember meeting someone who looked freakishly like an old roommate of mine. I also definitely found a cosy corner of bathroom stall to curl up in for a little bit. There were some people back home who needed texting.

You'll have to excuse me, I'm not at my best...

... I've been gone for a month, I've been drunk since I left!

After about half an hour's worth of porcelain rejuvenation, I rallied my gang (and myself) and we set out again for a pub called The Globe. It was here that Scotland's largest Canada Party was being held. It was wonderful! There were loads of groups just like ours - four or five mildly confused locals being led by a boisterous Canadian plastered with maple leaves. What fun! Plus, the bar made a point of having Canadian snacks and drinks on hand, so I had a Caesar (!Tasty!) and I bought a round of Moosehead* (!!! Yes! They actually had Moosehead!!!) for my buds!

Thanks for the invite, The Globe! You had me at "Clamato"!

*For those not in the know, Moosehead is a thoroughly okay beer brewed in Saint John, New Brunswick, which just happens to be the city where I grew up. In fact, my family's first house was only 2 streets away from the brewery. That yeasty smell still takes me back to my childhood. Combined with the fumes from the pulp mill and the decomposing fish of the harbour, it creates a fragrance that brings up waves of nostalgia. It's really a wonder they don't bottle Eau de Saint Jean as a perfume.

Eyyyyyyy....! Guyyyss....! I found Mooz Hedddd...! This is form... This is from my house... guysss... Eyyyyy...

To round off the night, I took a wander to a different bar. For the next month and a bit, I didn't know its name or really where it was. All I could remember was that it was basically a series of underground tunnels and caves and that there was a guy deejaying alongside video clips from Dragon Ball Z. I did a funky dance for a crew of goths and they all applauded. I liked it there. After weeks' worth of investigating, I came to discover that the place is called Banshee Labyrinth and it was actually only 3 doors down from The Globe. Still, it felt like an adventure at the time.

I think that was just about everything that I got up to on my Canada Day. Anyone else have stories to share? How about tales of the shenanigans of Quinze Août? Drop me a line!

Until next time, protegez vos foyers et vos droits!