Tuesday, 1 November 2011

1st Nov 2011 My Friend, The Canadian

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I had a Canadian friend years ago, and we had then got quite cosy together. He even presented me to a few of his Canadian friends as 'his girl'. One day He asked me to go with him to Canada for a vacation at his ranch for a month or two, and to see whether I liked it enough to stay on forever or for as long as I wished. That suggestion sounded, or implied, of a trial honeymoon, or a most unromantic proposal; neither appealed to me in the least. 


I asked him before whether he was native Canadian, he wasn't sure, just that he was born and brought up there, but believed that his ancestors were immigrants from Ireland. I find that there's a nearly sure way to find out:
 
You know you're from Canada when ...
* You only know three spices: salt, pepper and ketchup.
* Driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled in with snow.
* You find -40C a little chilly.
* The trunk of your car doubles as a deep freeze.
* Canadian Tire on any Saturday is busier than the toy stores at Christmas.
* You choose a Halloween costume which fits over a snowsuit.
* You've taken your kids trick-or-treating in a blizzard.
* The local paper covers national and international headlines on 2 pages, but requires 3 pages for hockey.
* You attend a formal event in your best clothes, your finest jewellery and your Sorels (winter/snow boots).
* You perk up when you hear the theme from 'Hockey Night in Canada'.

None of that appealed to me either. So, no vacation, no honeymoon, no proposal, in whatever order.
 
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