Ross is going to be doing a whole series of guest posts for me - hence why I have given him his own page up there ^.
Ross has completed a TEFL course and has gone away for a year to travel Canada and America and do some teaching... Sounds pretty normal. Thing is, it's Ross. And those of you who know Ross will know that it is in his nature to get himself into some of the most hilarious situations ever. Those of you who don't know Ross... be prepared to laugh a lot, and potentially be quite disgusted at some of his stories!!
Anyway, really hope you guys like these weekly interlude guest posts from Ross as much as I know I am going to! Apologies in advance for his use of profanity and graphic metaphor... You will grow to love it ;].
Over to you, Ross...
EP1 'Goodbyes and Hello's.'
A suitable farewell meal at a prestigious Oxford-based pizzeria. My final 'goodbyes' to my sister and her irritatingly likeable boyfriend (Sorry Will, I love you, but get your grubby hands off her you pervert!). Anyways, I forget the name of the joint but if you wish to visit, just keep your eyes peeled for Marvel comic creation – Silver Surfer; he lurks upon the roof of the restaurant, like a shining beacon of hope. I ordered a Gambit, which was very nice if not a little spicy (the Ragin' Cajun indeed!), much to my sister's disappointment as I had to keep stealing her He-man in order to restore equilibrium to my palette ( I think there's a vague euphemism about 'sucking dick' in there somewhere...).
Before leaving, as is tradition, I of course managed to embarrass us all; to my left was a life size figurine of a man, surrounded by silver. It bothered me throughout the meal.
“Who was this highly recognisable person?” I thought to myself each time I turned to steal slices of He-Man?
I couldn't bare to ask, I look like the kind of person who would just know these sorts of things i.e. I look like a twat; but regardless, I didn’t want to blow my cover as a Professional Geek in such an establishment, so I gave it a good amount of thought before mustering up the courage to say anything. As we were finishing up the meal and settling the bill I sensed my moment and went in for the kill, I was pretty certain I had it sussed, I picked the waiter who looked weakest mentally, to ensure any potential blushes were minimised -
“Is this shiny chap here to my left a tribute to Sam Beckett as he appears/re-appears in different timezones in the classic, Quantum Leap series.” I asked smugly, to the point were I'd just as well flopped my junk-out and beat-one off whilst simultaneously amending my moustache in a pocket-sized mirror I'd brought from home.
“No!” said the waiter, his eyes rolling into the back of his head in disgust.
“Thats Han Solo, frozen in carbonite in The Empire Strikes Back...”
I chose not to respond, just hung my head in shame and made for a hasty exit. I'm not sure I'd be welcomed back.
So that was my last evening in glorious England. I was aware the next morning I would be on the Delta aeroplane to Canada so I decided against getting wasted to fuck, for once, and hit the proverbial sack, it hurt my nuts – later that night I went to bed. I was to be staying with friends in Vancouver B.C for a week, ex-pats who had fulfilled their ambition of moving to a city with more options, attractions and natural beauty... or in (Greg) The Egg's case, a city containing larger pick-up trucks, the notorious BC Bud and a better selection of burgers. (The latter go hand-in-hand I was soon to learn.)
I awoke fairly early feeling a bit stressed. Despite being 27yrs old and having flown on numerous occasions to a range of destinations, I had never flown alone and I was freaking out about what to expect in terms of my baggage, check-in, possible delays, dying alone in a raft half way across the Atlantic ocean following a massive engine failure and even worse: customs officials. With this in mind I arrived at Gatwick Airport with plenty of time to spare, a decision I later regretted (you will read 'why' in my coming blog entries). The flight took off as scheduled, I did have to pay $100 to get my garish suitcase on the plane as it was too heavy (this became something of a theme throughout my travels...) but all in all it was a success. I was on my way to “Fuckin Eh – Canada” and it's true to say, I was very excited.
The flight went by without any hiccups. I watched a pirated copy of The Avengers, on my Macbook, I listened to some Richard Dawkins on my iPod and then I watched the hilarious Sean William Scott ice-hockey flick - Goon, via the aeroplanes in-flight television service. I flew on a Sunday and to be honest the activities I mentioned above are not at all dissimilar to how I would have chosen to spend the day of rest back at home anyways; perhaps I'd have smoked a few cigarettes as well but all in all, it was a standard lazy day in the sky.
My earlier fears were confounded upon landing in Vancouver, however. I deliberately wore a long sleeved cardigan to mask my tattoos from the beady eyes of over-enthusiastic (shall we say) customs officials. However, the backwards Emerica hat resting on a plateau of long, shaggy hair complete with tired eyes and a suitcase that screamed 'Search me!' was too much for their poor little minds to handle, and after I had already checked in with border control, whilst in the queue to leave the airport, with all necessary documents in-hand, I was apprehended by another customs official, who dragged me off to a side room and made it his top priority to be a total dickhead to me for the next hour or so...
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