Sunday, October 16, 2011

This week, I've been to Hull and back.

Well now that I still have a hefty portion of work left to do, I figure I should blog more regularly to distract me from the monotony of my everyday life. Nah. Things are ok. Well I started Colonel Chabert today and it is whipping me up into the most violent of comas, but I'll cope. I found an English translation online. Who needs to speak French when you've got google. Either way, after a hard morning of copying up work in neat, vague reading and an hour of Battleship madness I'm continuing my Peep Show marathon. In case you are in Canada and don't know what Peep Show is and you think it sounds like porn..well it is. Porn for the mind.

Anyway, getting back into normal life post Quebec feels pretty strange. I still think I'm on holiday, and probably will for the rest of time. I also missed my first class on Wednesday (whooop). It wasn't my fault though. I let "The Boy with the Frog" take me on an adventure to Kanata, which sounds suspiciously like Canada, but also happened to be 35 bus stops away. He was going to get speakers, whereas I was going to get mildly annoyed and bored. He didn't even get the speakers, so at least I missed class for a good cause. I felt like I'd seem MOST of the Ottawa area. It peaked about 10 minutes in, the other hour or so was fairly mediocre.

I did, however, meet a pretty charming old fellow on the bus. He was pretty old. I'm not very good at judging people's ages, but I'd put him somewhere between mildly confused and coffin dodger. After openly questioning the gender of the flowing haired boy I was with, he questioned my nationality. It was a real eye opener. Having lived my whole life believing I was born and brought up in England, I was promptly told by the Wise Old Man (WOM) that I don't have an English bone in my body (that's what she said?). Part of me was doubtful at WOM's knowledge, but as he had an answer for everything - apparently my British passport was one I just found off the street and happened to match all my details - I had to say that he put up an impenetrable argument and I had to cast of the facade of Britishness which had been plaguing my life since birth, and trapping me in its web of deceit. He didn't tell me where I am actually from....please not Belgium..please not Belgium.

Anyway, that was just one day. One insignificant day, which was just a build up to the glory which was Friday night. What was so great about Friday night?? they cry. I'll tell you what. I swallowed my enormous pride and sold my soul to Hull. For the more or English with you it wasn't the Hull that we know and love. Although in some ways I would have preferred a 10hr journey to Hull, UK as opposed to another night in Quebec, Hull. Last night one boy called going to Hull - "Living the dream". I used to think Canada was very optimistic, but maybe it is merely that they don't aim very high If Hull is the dream, then I'm going to stay awake for the rest of time.

It wasn't the worst place in the world, but standing soberly in a 'club' watching teenage girls bent over on all fours rubbing against guys' crotches made spending the night in the deprived slums of India seem fairly desirable. I didn't really get to meet too many of the guys there, which was a shame because I was hoping to throw around some ideas about the rise and fall of communism. It seemed like their kind of scene. One guy had a good stroke of my arm when I was waiting for the bathroom, but after I informed him that I was not a cat he unfortunately left. There was another guy who poured his drink down the back of my top. He tried desperately to apologise to me, but I refused, so instead of apologising as a mark of forgiveness he decided to grind on over to the girl next to me. I hear wedding bells. Jess got dragged off a few times against her will. It was reminiscent of the part in the 1st Harry Potter where they get caught up in the plant thing and are trying to drag themselves out. I wrestled one of the guys for Jess. I won. Thank god I spend all my free time pumping iron.

At least I had my friends to keep my spirits high. Oh wait. "The Boy with the Frog" decided in a drunken stupor that it would be a good idea to headbutt me in the head. It wasn't. As everyone knows I am a pretty tolerant person. I'm happy go lucky and I take everything with a pinch of salt...unless it is someone's head smacking against mine. When I first asked him why he headbutt me (using more fucking expletives) he told me it was because if he didn't headbutt me in the head then it wouldn't have been a proper headbutt. This wasn't quite the answer I was looking for. But after about 18 hours and quite a lot more expletives I told him that everything was fine and dandy. For now. It's ok. He may have a head of steel but I have my lightening fast wit, so he will get an emotional bollocking until I decide that he has served his sentence.

So yes. That was my first (and possibly last?) Hull.

Here is one of the definitions of Hull given by freedictionary.com

b. The enlarged calyx of a fruit, such as a strawberry, that is usually green and easily detached.

Hull is certainly the calyx to the glorious strawberry that is Canada, and a calyx that will be easily removed from my life - permanently.

All my love and more,
Katharine x

1 comment:

  1. your blog is making my world completeeee. eep eep.