CanUK

“Always Fresh” is the infamous motto. But I wonder how fresh a Tim Horton’s donut can be on a sweaty afternoon in Trafalgar Square. I’m nibbling the icing and rainbow sprinkles off the top of my import – making a gooey mess of my face and hands – amidst a Great Lake-sized sea of sun-kissed Canadians who have found a sort of “home away from home” here in London.

It is Canada Day and the UK’s capital is hosting a celebration for its commonwealth compatriots (http://www.canadadaylondon.com/do/default.asp).

Alongside the Tim Horton’s stall I see a maple syrup stand, and smell bison burgers on a grill across the square, and spot a line up around the corner of a Molson Canadian tent. I was hoping for poutine – I don’t even really like poutine – but nothing screams Canada like poutine. My craving persists.

Pearly-toothed people, clad in Salomon sneakers, carrying MEC packs (decked, traditionally in post-9-11 style, with maple leaf lapels) surround me. A sea of red and white is spread afoot the steps of the National Gallery, facing a stage where a trio of Canadian artists are singing to a fiddle.

“Has anyone here ever been on a river?!” shouts the lead singer who was hauled in all the way from Yellowknife.

My heart sinks, because the Thames in London, England, although majestic in comparison, doesn’t bring on the nostalgia that the Thames in London, Ontario somehow does. Along the river runs my favourite cross country course at the Thames Valley Golf Club, where I’ve trodden plenty of turf.

But I would shame other Canadians to think only of the dirty, winding Thames, at the sound of the word, “River”. And let's not talk about Detroit. But since I’ve left home, indeed for a few years now, I have wanted little more than head north for a breath of fresh Algonquin air and practice my j-stroke then while someone else (any takers?) takes the brunt of the work at the front-end of a canoe.

My homesickness is relieved by another mouthful of melting donut icing.
The band makes their exeunt and Jian Ghomeshi from The Hour keeps the show rolling. Love that guy.

That reminds me – I do miss the CBC.

Behind the stage rises Nelson’s Column, a mini-CN-like-tower (without the ugly bulge at the top) and as my eyes scale the pinnacle, I see airplanes heading in all directions, some doing victory laps around Heathrow before landing. It’s not often I wish I were flying, but for a fleeting moment my thoughts wander westbound, and suddenly the idea of an emergency landing in a cornfield in Essex County doesn’t seem so threatening. So long as I can slide off the airplane – oxygen mask still stuck to my face, floating device not yet inflated (for those who listen to the emergency instructions, you’re supposed to wait until your near-drowning in panic before you pull the inflatable cord) – and run from the wreckage until I collapse with my face in (worm-free) Canadian soil.

Then I realise, Canada is only a short flight away. And I’m here, among other like-minded “Can-UKs.” Canadians at heart, with a UK home. And that’s alright with me, on any other day besides Christmas, Thanksgiving, and the First of July.

I've been abroad for 11 months already, and recently moved to London. I love it here, but can't help missing home, from time to time.
I was still in Windsor when I started this blog, a year ago today.
I wrote a piece about “Canada House” (see http://3sixty6.blogspot.com/2007/07/0701-canada-house.html) which I hope someone has kindly paid homage to in my absence this year. I realised then, that a year would quickly pass – and that my circumstances would be flipped upside down come 366 days (http://3sixty6.blogspot.com/2007/07/countdown-begins.html).

I can assure you they have, despite failing to document the day to day process that has found me here today. In February, my camera failed me – a technological glitch that left me without means to capture the banalities of my life here – and the not so ordinary adventures. So I have left a gaping hole in my online dialogue – my diablog. But I figured I should at least finish what I started with this closing remark.

Happy Canada Day.
Hope the Fireworks were a blast.
Let me know when Tim Horton’s goes global.

Melissa

02.05 WALKAHOLICS

Dion walk everywhere. And he smokes.

It brings me back to the research I've done with retired mailmen, lifelong dogwalkers, and octogenarians who never had a drivers license but still have blockages in the arteries feeding their legs. Claudicants. Or people with claudication to be academically appropriate.

Not all of these walkaholics were smokaholics too. But many were.
It speaks to the power of nicotine over exercise, vices over virtues, and paints a grim picture for the smoking walkaholic.

A walk in the park isn't as easy as it sounds for some...

02.04 HAIR DONATION

This brings me back to that haircut in July. I am donating my locks for a cause, though not as honourable as kids with cancer nor as valiant as a donation to science, I do hope that my most recent donation to the visual arts will contribute somehow to human kind.

Last week I mentioned Sean's artistic endeavours and creative quirks and I have now been sucked into his world, both by curiosity and by charity. He is working with sound and vibration and small particles, like sand, salt, liquid - and hair - to choreograph a multi-media film project.

It's a shame he came asking so soon after Salma un-shagged me. I feel I'm getting closer and closer to that mohawk.

02.03 SUNDAY SPORT

As though I hadn't had enough of rugby after a Saturday, I paused to watch the Sunday players out in the Forest. Every weekend teams gather for pick up and practice. I usually stop and watch for a while, just barely long enough to get into the game and spend my afternoon procrastinating in disguise as a spectator.

02.02 SIX NATIONS

They say the world is getting smaller. But it's down to six nations as far as the Rugby universe is concerned. We spent the afternoon at Walkabout - a shanty but accomodating sports pub in town where all the fans hang out. The massive theatre-size screen makes it feel like the movies and the actors aren't so bad looking.

I rooted for Wales on behalf of Dion - and selected my team well since they took the lead in the second half to beat France in their first game of the league championship.

I have to admit, France's team is glittering with good looking blokes and I might have to shift favour next week. I do love rugby for all the wrong reasons.

02.01 NOTTING-HAM ROCKS

The night kept rolling inspite of the fatigue and we ended up at Dogma for a live gig that Gareth promised to be worth the wait. Aesop Rock, rap artists from NY, had it going until they sent a shout out to Nottingh-HAM and apologized on behalf of the shit their president has disturbed. The mention of George Dubya on any occasion tends to kill a good mood. Besides that, it's getting pretty old - no need to be overapologetic.

01.31 BROWNS

After barely surviving the law exam without falling into an incapacitating delerium, we followed the boys to a barren curry house where a host welcomed us over demoralising music. Turned off by the scene a few of us headed to Browns for some eats before dragging our weary minds and bodies to Dogma for a live gig.

It was a fun night. Just tiring. We were giddy at points.
Media law sucked the juice outta my brain.

A bottle of pear cider replenished some bits. Sleep and the gradual vacating of parts of my brain ridden with details of court cases and law lords should do the trick though.