I will never understand why people always, always insist on clapping when the plane lands. It's a fine tradition sure, but cringe! I mean it's their job! It's like saying "there was about a 50/50 chance they weren't gonna be able to land this plane and all of us would die, so applause all around for that not happening"! I'm more impressed when a massive metal thing with 200 people in it actually makes it up. Now that's something to applaud. Take-offs are always the worst for me, those few moments when the plane lifts off the ground and starts its rapid ascend into the sky and you're like "is it gonna make it?", especially when you're sitting behind a fat, curry-smelling East Indian couple who seem to be stalking you since last Christmas when you were on the same flight sitting next to them and they didn't speak a word of bloody English and they kept fidgeting in their seats and kept you awake for the entire 9 hour flight. This time my exotic tormentors had their seats pushed back so far I couldn't get in or out of my already shitty seat. I mean, who does that? There is such a thing as flying etiquette ya smelly bastard. To top that experience I also had a lay-over in Paris which meant dealing with the French, whose incompetence is like second nature which they communicate exclusively in their native tongue. I can speak some French but apparently not enough to tell them they're cunts. Unlike the Canadians who are actually pretty cool folk. Of course most of their country is a god-forsaken icicle but arriving in Toronto, unlike last year, I found it to be surprisingly mild weather-wise. The day following my arrival we drove up to a friend's cottage, literally a cabin in the woods with a large window right in front of the toilet seat looking out upon the dark woods(perfect for say a bear or a serial killer to pop out and scare the buttons of your shirt. Actually if it was a serial killer, or a clown as my buddy likes to remind me, you'd be losing a lot more than just your buttons), located passed something called the Snow Belt, with a car filled with an excess of smelly cheese, wine and various gourmet delights, although we mostly stuck with the wine and cheese. I was comfortably plopped in front of the fireplace for almost all of the two days we spent there and my jet lagged, abnormal, sleeping patterns, which woke me at 6 a.m, offered a sun-drenched view of the frozen lake and woods right outside my bedroom window, utterly breathtaking. Mum, Bruce and I ventured to the nearby town of Gravenhurst for some thrift shopping and discovered a music and antique shop which I would be happy to be left at forever. Records, guitars and old books, far to heavy for me to carry back home, and a collection of typewriters one of which dating back 150 years, that made me tear up. And then came the plight of our adventure. I discovered that although if all else fails I could easily become a plumber, my surprising professional skill doesn't go as far as cutting through a frozen lake and replacing a water pipe frozen in its entirety. It's surprising how much you miss running water when you don't have it. We instantly felt dirty and itchy and fled to civilization. With a warm home, running water and clean hair I spent the rest of Christmas in Toronto going nuts over the squirrels(pun mostly intended and very successful) that were literally everywhere in all shapes and sizes, visiting a petting zoo at which I did not get to pet anything and eating amazing food cooked by my mum, who always swears she can't cook just to get out of doing it, and drinking mimosas, not just for brunch. On one occasion we found it a delightful idea to tipsily run around the neighborhood late at night and look at Christmas lights and decorations, most of them tacky and some downright terrifying such as one snowman, mum running down the street with her tiny skinny legs and I walking at my usual pace which doesn't count as running or strolling but is a rather odd combination, trying not to trip and fall as I usually do. The baffling truth is that this time around I didn't need to be drunk to get through the Holidays, me and mum got on spectacularly well and although I missed people back home I would have gladly stayed longer, voluntarily, sober(I know, I am shocked as well). Though I planned on writing earlier and while I was there, I was having to much of a damn good time to be bothered, honestly. My last day was consumerist heaven, a much needed day-long Boxing Day shopping spree for presents, a lot of them for myself, and a mother-daughter-and Bruce mani-pedi. In the evening we decided to end my trip going full circle to the place that started it, a charming pub on the Danforth called Allen's- a small parenthesis here to talk about the food at Allen's. The steamed muscles in white wine were to die for, the pork medallions were exquisite but the burgers...ah the burgers! Now, I basically eat for a living and I will go on record, with confidence, and say those were the best burgers I have ever had. Okay, parenthesis close, just had to share that- and once we were fed and sufficiently wined we popped in next door to the Irish Pub for what my mother called a jig. Due to the festive season there was a live band with traditional Irish music played not be ginger-bearded Irish folk but by massive clean-shaven Kiwis. It was sort of the perfect way to end my visit which was very merry indeed. At the airport I ran into the same Indian couple and laughed at the face of in-flight horror as the kind, wonderful woman at check-in gave me an excellent premium seat, right next to first class in which such a thing as the elusive, stuff of dreams, leg-room existed! Although it wasn't my preferred and most beloved British Airways, KLM did just fine and the tall Dutch flight attendants were polite and proper with a touch of effortless sophistication, and they let me use the first-class bathroom which is why somewhere in the world there is a Dutch gentleman flight attendant I very much love. And nobody dared clap as the plane landed...Finally on dry land, with swollen feet struggling to fit in their shoes, I arrived back home to a bouquet of white tulips sprinkled with glitter and the sight of my wonderful boyfriend.
