Canada: Veni, Vidi, Forgot My Coat
Canadian things Misssy loves, No1: Mikey JSo I went to Canada last week, but I also kind of didn’t. Such is my job, I often go places but don’t really, usually because I am having to film something irritatingly utilitarian like a refinery or a chemical processing plant, or in this case a sea going vessel that also turns into an oil rig like some kind of very dull Transformer.
However, because all this video crapola has to be done thoroughly yet squeezed into such a short timescale as possible to save the operating companies spending more money than is strictly necessary, I rarely get to see anything outside these portals of Hell. In all, I think I spent ninety minutes on actual Canadian soil (I’m not counting airports; I spent considerably longer in them). Don’t get me wrong, dear Canadian readers, those ninety minutes were lovely and involved some really nice (and welcome) alcohol, and I enjoyed checking out your fine moustachioed men, so no complaints there. In fact, I’d go as far to say I’d like to spend even longer than ninety minutes with you all next time. How about that?
Sadly, in this particular case I was forced to actually live onboard the tedious Transformer with no means of escape and was unable to go on the dry land of Halifax even once, which I was reliably informed by just about everybody that I met onboard, was “Really worth a visit”. Oh hahaha, everyone. Thanks for that. Yeah, I’d love to visit Halifax, if you lot would ever let me off your stupid boat, ya mongrels.
See how pissed off I am; I even broke into Australian there.
So yes, it was a great shame that all I could ever see of Halifax was a misty cityscape barely visible from the edge of the vessel through the fog and my salty tears about a couple of briny miles away. Before the trip, nobody told me the vessel wasn’t in port. We wrongly assumed that it might even have had a gangway allowing me and my crew to be able to get it off it and into a bar with ease once our daily work was done. Funny that no-one thought to mention that. Hmmm. Funny that no-one thought to question our human rights when the client told us that we didn’t need to book a hotel (which they would have been paying for) as there was “comfortable accommodation onboard”. Oh it just happens to be a mile or so into the middle of some big bit of water called the Atlantic. With no means of escape. And no telly. And fairly shit food.
In actual fact, I seem to distinctly remember our fifty-something client telling us weeks ago how great a place Halifax was and what a great old time we would have. Great restaurants, great bars, great people, he said. I actually remember him distinctly saying something about “There’s always a party going on in Halifax”. At the time I thought, “Hmmm, check you and your mid-life crisis” but now I’m thinking “How evil are you, chum?” He said the words “good time”, “great laugh” and used the word “party” as an actual verb at one point, yet all the time he sat there knowing that in fact he was going to imprison us in his watery metal fortress that didn’t even have TV. Evil, pure evil.
So this is just an intro, as my trip is notable for three things and as such warrants three further separate posts. So using the teasing techniques so often employed in crappy TV shows like Britain’s Got Talent and X Factor and just about every non BBC documentary that ever gets made these days, I’m going to tell you the best bits upfront so that you’ll hang on this week and read them all in full.
Anyway, doctor, here’s what thinly veiled rants disguised as treats you can expect from the Misssives couch this week:
1. I make two Canadians angry and they mildly insult me. It’s the closest I think Canada’s ever come to a declaration of war. It may have even made the television news. I don’t know if it did, because where I was they didn’t have telly. I may have mentioned that already.
2. I am hoisted 100ft into the air in the dark and the rain above choppy seawater and all I can think is “Thank God my Mum can’t see this” (with pics, possibly)
3. Once again I fail to get through Heathrow without avoiding the light of touch frisking official who upset Diana Ross that time, and subsequently developing an aneurism.
All will be covered in detail, unless I get hit by a truck, which given my luck this week is entirely possible.
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