Blame Canada

Weird Al Yankovic is nowhere near as good as he used to be, but anything lampooning Canadians is funny so check out his latest effort: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHK1gxH23gU

Actually, as I've said a million times before, I love Canada and everything in it (within reason). But it's just not home. Every single member of my family is in England (apart from my dad who's in France - but you get my drift) and I'm here, and I'm getting just a little bit sick of it. Now I've found out my grandad is seriously ill - which makes my plan to come back in January a little bit more concrete. And my sister's coming here for Christmas, which (a) rocks and (b) should tide me over in the family department. I just have to get through the next month...

One new (or rediscovered) sport wasn't enough for me last week, so when my friend Tammy invited me to go rock climbing I gladly accepted. Not that I'd ever climbed before - even if I'd had the opportunity I would have avoided it because I hate heights.

Sure enough, I had a few shaky moments climbing the first wall - in fact, the worst part was getting to the top and having to let go so I could be lowered down on the rope I was attached to (see last photo, below). Even the pros are attached to ropes, and you have to let go of the wall completely to get lowered down.

But by the end of the evening I was scaling the highest walls (35ft) and looking down (without fear!) to listen to people's advice. You see, rock climbing is very strategic and if you get the wrong hand or foothold (the feet are the most important) it can mess up a whole section of climb. So other people yell Twister-like instructions at you ('Right hand red!' or 'Left foot blue!') so you get the right holds and make it up the wall.

And when you get to the top, it's the hugest adrenalin rush. Then your arms start shaking because it takes such enormous physical effort. You should see some of the climbers - they have arms like Madonna and backs like Patrick Swayze (and that's just the girls). I don't know about the back, but it would be fun to have muscly arms. Plus it's great exercise in general and you meet lots of new people - so, along with the ice hockey (which I did again on Monday) I think this could be a regular thing.

Today's Canadian headlines said that Ottawa is thinking of changing the law allowing people to hold dual citizenship. This is in the wake of the Lebanese war in the summer, where 15,000 Lebanese-Canadians escaped to Canada having lived away from the country for years, and are now happily claiming social benefits.

A lot of Canadians, naturally, think this is unfair. But what about those of us who do live in Canada, but just don't want to sever ties with the place where we were born (in my case, America) and raised (in my case, England)? The American passport is just very handy - I don't really want to live there, just visit without hassle - but my family's English and I go back there all the time. Heck, my identity is English! (sort of)

But I want to live in Canada, so I also want a Canadian passport. It looks like, somewhere down the line, I might have to choose. That's not something I'm looking forward to.

For more details, follow this link: http://www.cbc.ca/canada/story/2006/11/07/dual-citizenship.html

Finally, a year and a half after arriving in the country, I've got round to playing ice hockey!! I hadn't played for about six years (ever since I played for Oxford - I still remember drinking champagne out of the trophy after we thrashed Cambridge : ) until yesterday, when I bravely stepped out onto my local ice rink in my brand new skates. New skates, newly sharpened blades, new ice - all these things made me a little bit wobbly.

But I got used to it, and 45 minutes later I was (a) coasting around the rink pretty confidently, and (b) bored. You see, ice skating on its own doesn't do too much for me. Everyone else at the skating session (all six of them) were chatting to each other, and I wondered how anyone got to know each other if all they did was skate in circles. So I stopped, just to see what would happen. Sure enough, someone skated up to me and introduced themselves! And then she introduced me to everyone else!

And guess what? One of them was English! And not 80 (like most of the English people around here)!! He's a bit of a thesp and works in showbiz so we hit it off straight away. He'd barely known me for 10 minutes when he invited me and Joe over for dinner, so culture-wise he's obviously not completely English. But he'd lived in London for years so we had lots to talk about.

When he discovered I'd played ice hockey for Oxford, he immediately went off and got a couple of sticks and a puck. Up till then I still wasn't completely confident, but as soon as I got a stick in my hand it was like I'd never stopped playing. Wielding a large object to hit things with comes very naturally to me, which I probably should be slightly worried about. Nah, not really. I'm just chuffed I've found new friends and a fun way to exercise. So guess what I'll be doing every Monday morning from now on?

I have to get myself more attached to the grapevine...this Ikea cock-up (tee-hee) has been doing the rounds since the end of August, but I've only just heard about it. Oh well - I still think it's hilarious. What's wrong with this picture on page 2 of the Ikea catalogue? Answers to the 'comments' section, the winner gets an honourable mention in the next entry (so to speak).

I get my hair cut so infrequently I should, by all rights, look like Cousin It off the Addams Family. Instead, it goes all frizzy and split-endsy and I end up throwing back in a plait and forgetting about it. Then the frumpiness gets too much (even for me) and off I go to the scissor-man.

That's what I did today, using up the last of a gift certificate that Joe gave me a year and a half ago (yes, really - that's when I last got my hair cut). The hairdresser didn't bitch about what poor condition my hair was in - in fact, he said it was great for the length. He even liked my fringe. I think it was all genuine and not just for the tip, but I did my part and tipped generously anyway. It's the Canadian way (a lesson for Brits in the hospitality industry - can you spell 'customer service'? You could probably spell it better if everyone else knew how to spell 'tip').

Then I was in a self-pampering mood so I went shopping. Coming out of the mall, though, I realised I'd lost my car. Mall parking lots are so huge that you can wander round for days and not find where you parked. After walking for 15 minutes in the freezing cold I started imagining the headlines ('Budding Journalist Freezes to Death in Parking Lot Horror' - Suzie Chiodo was discovered dead metres from her Chevy Metro. Forensic pathologists, constructing her final moments, believe she died cursing the very mall where she'd just purchased a fabulous v-neck sweater dress and washed out hipster jeans for only 35 pounds).

When I finally found Silver (don't tell me you've never named your car) I was so pleased I hugged him. I guess that's the precise opposite of being a tree-hugger, but I've never been that glad to see a tree.

And now I get to go out with my fab hair and fab clothes and enjoy a brief moment of looking completely presentable. It might even last a few days.

(By the way, the photos for this entry were taken with the camera on my funky new Apple Macbook. Now I can work wherever I want - and take silly photos of stuff. Yay!!)

Another season, another celebration - such is Canadian life. With autumn/fall, everyone starts decorating their houses with apples and pumpkins and leaves in red, yellow and orange. Kids go on hayrides and wander around in cornstalk mazes. Radio and TV ads start using lame Halloween puns ('It's spook-tacular!') and the shops are crammed with sweets in every conceivable shape and colour (including fingers and skulls oozing black goo that should come with the number of the nearest Poison Control Centre).

A couple of weeks later, Halloween arrives and everyone (including the adults) dresses up. This is the part I love. Hands up the number of people I know in England who would dress up, ever (I can see my sister's hand going up, and Milton's, and everyone's in my accapella group). I can basically count them on one hand. Here, you're considered a stick-in-the-mud if you don't at least put on a funny hat. I went as Batgirl, which was a great excuse to wear PVC : )

Then there's the trick-or-treaters. All the kids go around their neighbourhood getting candy from everyone, and all the neighbours chat to each other and the adults tell the kids how cute they are before giving them unfathomable amounts of E numbers. One of my friends even got cookies that looked like fingers (with almonds for fingernails - how cool??).

It's all good fun, and even the Christians join in rather than condemning people to another night in front of the TV because the whole thing is occult and you'll probably get psychos putting razors in your apples anyway. They realise it's a chance for fun and togetherness just like any other celebration (the mummy in the photo is my friend Nina, who's married to my pastor : ) I love this country!

Some other great costumes, by the way...

My friend Steve as Michael Jackson in 'Thriller'




Steve's mum as Dolly Parton (note the knockers)








My best friend Tammy (left) as a gypsy and Steve's sister Lindsey as a pirate