Friday, June 6, 2014

Vancouver, eh?

I love Canadian. I remember returning to England after bicycling across Europe with Baiba and so enjoying hearing the English trying to speak Canadian.
The English in Dover then didn’t speak the language properly as Canadians do but it was a far better proximity to modern Canadian communication than any of the Dutch, Germans, French, Spanish, etc had been able to achieve.  I would think with all their old world knowledge they’d have learned how to communicate in Canadian by now. Their stubborn persistence in maintaining their outmoded communication is probably central to their ongoing difficulties at getting along with each other.  If there’s to be peace on earth everyone must simply learn Canadian, eh?
 So here I was again,returning home from a foreign country, all too full of foreigners, and glad to be back among the chosen and holy.   Having spent weeks studying how the Russians are coming along with their Canadian, I find they’re still not really getting it.  With their excellent hockey capacity and cosmonaut capability you would think they’d be able to communicate in Canadian.  But no.  They persist in making all manner of mistakes with language, not even getting the alphabet right.
I repeated myself.  I even raised my voice.  I  spoke very slowly to them at times.  But they couldn’t even understand Canadian to give me directions,  let alone speak it.   I was glad to return to this land of deep intelligence.  Some Russians actually thought I was the idiot.
Immediately I boarded the KLM plane home the stewardess, with very little effort, was speaking Canadian. I have hope for the Dutch.  When I got off the plane, sure enough everyone in Vancouver appeared to have mastered the art of communication. Given we in Vancouver, make Canadian seem so easy, I wonder if that’s what makes it so difficult for foreigners.  We can’t be faulted with our own genius.  They just have to try harder as nations.    I feel sorry for other countries and understand why so many people come here from there.  It’s the  only place people actually talk properly.
I loved getting in my own truck too.  In Moscow they expected me to share the Metro with everyone else.  Not once did they offer me my own train.  I would have been happy with my own train car but no, they insisted on crowding me into this little space with all these foreigners. Nice people, friendly.  In then end, I expected they all just wanted to be close to a real Canadian.  Probably only get the chance to see us on tv.  So here they were all about me, acting like they were just going from place to place, when they really were having, perhaps, their very first ecstatic  experience of being near a Canadian.  
In the Metro I just hoped  all those foreigners washed, brushed their teeth, and kept up with their  vaccinations.  I confess I sniffed at them a bit, like Canadians do around foreigners. These ones smelt just fine.  I actually think they were probably a better sort of foreigner, the kind  authorities keep, to show off to Canadians.
I really liked having my own Ford F350  truck back..  All that space inside and all that diesel power to drive right over the top of anyone who even thought to mess with a Canadian.
I also really liked being reunited with my real man dog,  Gilbert,  the cockapoo. Hannah  and her girl dog Hamchi took wonderful care of him.  Still when he saw me it was like male prison break from an all girls reform school. He barked, ran circles and danced up and down.   He was pretty clear too after that gleeful reunion the king was back.  He quickly had his  ’subject’ human  throwing ball, fetching food, and scratching his belly.  It was really good to be reunited. He doesn’t speak Canadian but I understand dog.  Dog might be the only language superior to Canadian.
Then we were home.  Home is great. .  I was so excited to see everything I love still here. Hurricanes, tsunamis, zombies and meteorites could well have taken it all away.  I was filled with gratitude.  Mida had been by and tidied up the hectic mess I’d left leaving.  
My Harley Davidson Motorcycle was there too.  Gilbert and I got on that  Harley with Steve Bell music playing full volume and rode on the highway.
I've even enjoyed going back to work. No major crisis while I was away. The plants and fish survived.  The bills had piled up but not so bad that that the tax department has sent around anyone to knee cap me. Aubrey, my assistant, kept things safe.
Then there were friends.  In Russia I only had one friend, Barrett.   Here I have what seem like a gazillion people and family too.  They all know and speak and are Canadian.  Holy sainted geniuses, the lot of them.
I’m really glad to be home.  I don’t know if the rest of the world is going to learn Canadian any time soon. They’re still a little backward.
I keep telling foreigners that if you want to know God,  stop with the om,   amen, or allah akbar.  Just say ‘eh’ ? And everything  will  be okay, eh?

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