Now is the winter of our discontent. Well, it’s actually SUPPOSED to be spring, but NOBODY SEEMS TO HAVE TOLD THE CANADIAN TOURIST BOARD THAT. I’m colder than a dark Jedi running about in a pair of Y-Fronts killing ‘younglings’ in the Arctic. Come to think of it, is that a Polar Bear? No – it’s not. Damnit – that would have added some excitement to these parts. Yes, like Patrick Moore’s loins, there ain’t much going on in Halifax.
As I’ve elected to follow Patricia around like a lost (but rather hyperactive and annoying) pup until she disappears out of real world and I’ll only be able to hassle her though the tortuous slog that is DOING ANYTHING ON FACEBOOK THESE DAYS.
Come to think of it – where the HELL have my groups gone? And my events? Why has it become Twitter, asking me what I’m thinking RIGHT NOW. You don’t want to know what I’m thinking RIGHT NOW, it’s unprintable and at the very least it will result in me being buried up to my hips in sand in some god-forsaken corner of the Arabian peninsular while a rugby team of sexually repressed young men fling stones into my face until I die of internal haemorrhaging. So go away Facebook, you can’t know what’s on my mind BECAUSE I’M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU. Geddit? Good.
Where was I? Ah yes, Patricia – so a tour of Halifax might ease the TEDIUM THAT IS HALIFAX, so we grabbed Joseph and set out into the snowy wasteland in order to re-enact the Battle of the Arnhem with snowballs. Since everyone who took part in WWII is now dead (or this text is too small for them to read) I’m going to hope you don’t find that too offensive. I mean – seriously – can you imagine what it must be like being German and learning about the war in a German history class? It would be as painstakingly embarrassing and torturous as being taught sex-ed in graphic detail by Anne Widdicombe’s grandmother.
We did what?
Anyway, arbitrary historical notes (like learning from our mistakes) aside, I don’t believe in blaming people for the sins of their fathers, so I was willing to let the Germans win on this occasion. After all, I throw like a ginger kid, there were two of them and one of them was rather fetching. Patricia wasn’t bad, either.
Anyways, these shenanigans did not really help to dispel the FACT that Halifax is quite dull. The Fortress was quite dull (if Bowser had been floating above it in a big clown-faced hot-air balloon throwing Mecha-Koopas down on our heads, it would have improved matters somewhat) and Pier 21 – where all the immigrants entered the country – was so dull it was closed.
Now I’m not just bitter because I DIDN’T STAY IN NEW YORK, but I’m really beginning to wish I HAD STAYED IN NEW YORK. Oh well.
That night I went for a swift half with Toby, the Antipodean Chef and retired to my Dorm embarrassingly early in the hope that somebody had sent me some exciting email news. Nah – the only thing of note was that Hapag-Lloyd, like ACL, had turned down our request to let me on board, citing company policy and other such balderdash. Shame on you both, you’ll get no hugs or jelly beans from me.
