The One Where Fall Semester Finishes With Joy

 

I like bright lights.

I like puppies.

 

In the bleak midwinter.

Flash Nog is my hero.

 

Hearting life.

Flash Nog is still my hero.

 

High fiving Cooper.

Chilly.

 



The One With Goodbyes, Permanent and Temporary

Be the Pig.

I am one day away from finishing this semester, and whilst I am tremendously excited for a quintessentially English Christmas, it does mean that I have to say goodbye to people here in Canada, and some of them for probably forever.



Cereal snackers.

The first goodbye came courtesy of my Women in North American Christianity exam which was made hilariously fun by Emily and Christina who brought in their cereal snacks and happily chomped away at them for three hours. Combined with Prof Anderson being her usual gem-like self and drawing, (badly), pictures on the black board. Firstly, she wrote The Breakfast Poem complete with a little piggy. What is The Breakfast Poem I hear you cry? Well: 'The Chicken contributes, but the Pig gives his all. Be the Pig.' It's something vaguely motivational to spur us on to do our very best in our exam. Although can't help but feel it came a bit late in the game, ten minutes before an exam! Exams here are fundamentally chilled. Walk in whenever you want, choose whatever seat you want, leave whenever you want - it's a far cry from the frankly frightening exam regime Exeter forces you through twice yearly. But, at lunch afterwards, it was really sad having to say goodbye to Emily, because I might never see her again. But Facebook is a wonderful thing!

The second goodbye was to my favourite fellow exchange students, Lisanne, Yvet and Lihan, the Aussie who likes to have post-colonial banter and diss the Queen. (God save the Queen.) It's weird to think that they're not going to be here next semester - and that they'll be somewhere warm and sunny whilst I try not to get into an ice-induced coma.

Sam and Cooper.

Goodbye number three was to Julia at church, and that definitely is just a temporary goodbye because I'll see her next semester, and should God decide anything else, we'll most certainly hang out in eternity. That's despite whether she likes it or not, because I love her and love spending time with her. Just the thought of Julia puts a smile on my face. She also did some pretty epic praying in Jesus' name this morning - that girl is annointed!

And the last goodbye was probably the hardest. Sam, whose epithet from me is the favourite Canadian, is moving home at the end of this semester to finish off her degree at Trent University. Sam has been so amazingly wonderful and kind to me over the semester. From putting up with me breaking classroom etiquette and sitting next to her in class, to trying to steal her dog from outside Subway, to decorating her apartment in Happy Birthday banners, to Disney Scene It Two championships. She is the favourite Canadian and I feel blessed and over-joyed to have met her. Cooper wasn't a negative to the friendship, but Sam was the best thing ever.

Definitely not acting out The Lion King...

The One With A Winter Wonderland

Confederation Park and the surrounding area has been lit up brightly and beautifully, so I kissed my toes and noses goodbye in order to freeze to death in stunning surroundings.

Favourite tree.

Favourite frozen fountain.

Favourite pose.

Favourite time of the year.

The One With An Impromptu Sleepover

Flash Nog!

I've made a new friend. His name is Flash Nog. He's a beanie baby hamster which belongs to Christina, and I got the absolutely privilege of spending the night with him. And Christina. I don't know how to adeptly describe Christina; basically, imagine the funniest, most compassionate, passionate, excited, beautiful, generous person ever and multiply it by twenty thousand and you're still way way off the mark of Christina. She is wonderful and I adore her!

Truth.

On Tuesday, she invited me to the young adults group at her church as well as buying me ice cream which just makes her a total winner in my eyes. Having said that, she also attacked my eyebrows before hand which she is wont to do whenever I go to her room. I should probably remember that and apply magic numbing cream on my face in anticipation of going to see her. Church was utterly brilliant, and it was so needed to just have time to soak in the Saviour's love. Furthermore, I also had someone prophesy over me and I feel so totally blessed by God's generosity.

Despite having a final the very next day, Christina would not take no for an answer about me sleeping over on Tuesday evening. There is nothing more wonderful than spontanaity, apart from late night, honest, emotional prayer sessions with phenomenal friends.

And part of being friends meant me getting Christina up at 6am so she could study, with Flash Nog's help, of course!

Flash Nog the geek.

The One With Lots of Lights

Hand-down-bra as effective warmer.

Different countries have different ways of celebrating different things; the start of the Christmas season is celebrated in Canada with the impressive illumination of landmarks across the country, with celebrations taking place in the capitals of each province and territory. Being in the capital of all capitals, Canada, the illumination ceremony at Parliament Hill is a massive deal, and is utterly spectaculour. On reflection, I probably should have dressed better for the occasion.! I think may knees were in danger of frostbite. Furthermore, at one point I needed to stick my hands down my bra for an emergency heat up because my special Canada mittens weren't doing their job properly. At least it was still dark, so no-one really saw!

Sickly sweet choir.

The atmosphere was like that at a UK Bonfire Night celebration, except sans-extortionate prices and antisocial behaviour. I'm talking free hot chocolate, free beaver tails and free candles. Although the pesky winter wind made the candle situation somewhat unsuccessful. It was such a lovely family atmosphere, although you could tell there was Anglophone/Francophone tension. But there is nothing more adorable than a small child in a full on thermal onesie, forced to toddle like an obese starfish.

Canada has the potential to be somewhat...kitsch. I mean that in a loving way, but it really is rather kitsch! The emcees for the evening had this nauseating quality, and the (bronze-medal winning) show choir brought a whole new meaning to saccarine. Remember when the Glee choir was awful in the Pilot? This choir was a hundred times worse. But kudos for the switching in and out of English to French in the middle of lines. But did you really have to sing a carol slowed to an unbearable pace when we were all freezing?

Never say no to a free beaver tail.

Considering this is Ottawa, there could have been more effort made with the guests of honour. Instead we got some politicians and the vice-president of the sponsors, and those Canadians didn't give a hoot. I think one person in the entire crowd applauded. One of the lovely moments was when they broadcast messages from each of the provinces and territories, with messages of happy Christmas/holidays/Hannakah/new year etc, and the territories all wished it in their native languages - nice touch. I have to say though, the emcees talked a lot about unity within Canada, and I couldn't help but think of George Sioui, my prof and the stories from his life as First Nations in Canada. I don't think there's unity in Canada, sorry.

Lights, camera - action!

The lights are fantastic! The ones in Confederation Park are the most beautiful ones in the entire city. They're so colourful and warm and they've been arranged so magnificently. There is this magical feel to it. Plus, late night walks with snow falling and it's like you're caught in a rainstorm of stars.

Other exciting things this week have been a poetry reading evening from a class on undergrad creative writers. Some were pretentious, some were just awful and one or two were great. Such is creative writing! Prof Mayne gave a reading of the Blue Couch and it was as hilarious as the first time I heard it. And today I went to the library and played throw and catch with Gabby across the computers. Because we are childish.

And now, for exams.

The One Where it's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Flag's first outing!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Snow is falling, all around us. The weather outside is frightful. And other related Christmas cliches. And it is wonderful! Looming finals make it less wonderful, but Christmas-related procrastination makes the study part of study abroad that bit more bearable. First of all, I got my first two signatures on my third year abroad flag from Emily and Devon. It's super weird to think that I might not see them ever again! But, thanks to my flag, and Facebook, Emily's delight at my awkard chair situation in WINAC shall never be forgotten!

After attempting to do work in the library, I gave up and went to check out Byward Market and to see its festive transformation. What we really wanted to do was to bask amongst the Christmas trees, breathing in their delightfully wintery scent. However, it turns out the Christmas tree-sellers work on commission, so we didn't get much peace. We ended up having to hide from them amongst the bigger trees. Nothing angers a commission worker more than a browser.


Nothing, and I do mean nothing, screams Christmas like a horse-drawn wagon ride around Byward Market. I nearly lost my fingertips to frostbite, but it's ok because the ride was free. I don't mind losing my extremeties as long as I don't have to pay for the privilege. Byward Market sure is stunning. I nearly got eaten by the horse afterwards, but again, I don't mind being munched by a horse as long as I don't have to pay to be horsey fibre.

One of the many delights of Byward Market is the Cupcake Lounge. It's like Heaven. Unless if you're a diabetic, in which case it's Hell. I don't think I've ever seen so many cupcakes in one place - choosing just one was near-on impossible. But good old chocolate called to me. I think I shall spend much more time in the Cupcake Lounge!

We are awsome Canadian women.

That evening I went to Zak's because Zak's in wonderful. Christina, in her joyful wonderfulness, surprised me with a birthday sundae, complete with sparkler. Which was mildly terrifying because I thought I was going to get singed by aforementioned sparkler. But the gorgeous Christina and company would more than make up for sparkler accidents!

Ottawa is plagued by freezing rain, which means I have to walk very gingerly so as to avoid broken bones. I think my granny walks faster than I do in this weather. The only upside to today's vile rain was seeing Cooper outside of Mac's and sneaking in some soggy cuddles before Sam came out. I may be stealing her dog before she heads back to Toronto - he's just so gorgeous! He's even gorgeous when he's soaked and making me even more drenched than I already was. I'm just a sucker for cuteness!

Loving life. Joy joy joy.

The One With A Visit To The Emergency Room

Not content with just checking out Ottawa's Police Station, I also got to visit the Emergency Room of the Ottawa Hospital. There's nothing quite like settling down for an evening of last-minute revision and getting panicked Facebook message from Gabby saying that she's had blood gushing out her nose for the past million hours and she needs to go to hospital. Did someone say #YOHOYA?

Now it's time for a smug comparison of Canadian hospitals with the British NHS. First of all, we had to queue to get seen by a triage nurse to assess how likely Gabby was to suddenly keel over and need emergency surgery. Then we had to wait about half an hour to be seen by the insurance office. Then, because Gabby hasn't yet printed out her health insurance card, we spent another half an hour faffing about with money and addresses and the like. But the heart-warming moment when you're named as someone's next of kin is wonderful! Although, Gabs, please please don't let me have to do anything too serious with that role, please!



Then came another long wait. Like two hour long wait. At this point, Gabby, whilst looking super sexy in a plastic nose plug, had gone deathly white and had developed an accute headache focussed on one of her temples. Furthermore, there wasn't any water. Seriously. You can't move for freaking water fountains whenever you're on uOttawa's campus, but for some reason which I cannot fathom, at a hospital in the emergency room there is no water. Quite frankly, it's a miracle of epic proportions that I didn't get blood-stained chunder splashed over my feet as nausea took its toll on Gabby.

Finally, I got fed up with waiting, what with Gabby's deteriorating condition and got us moved into the treatment room. This was, without doubt, where the really fun stuff started happening. First of all, I sang Adele. I basically am Adele. Then Gabby and I did a great rendition of Ten Red Mounties Sitting on a Wall. You'd have thought by that point, a doctor would have come to see Gabby. No. After more hours of waiting, Gabby's headache took over and she lay down on the dirty floor and fell asleep.

Eventually, an orderly came and let us, I say us, let Gabby lie down on an actual bed. To be honest, bearing in mind the way he looked at my tits and not my face, if I didn't have an E cup, Gabby would still be lying on that grubby floor. As Gabby got comfy, muggins here got to do emergency revision for next day's exam in a freezing cold, eerie emergency room. For a place with the word 'emergency' in the title, it doesn't really act like it. More and more hours passed by before we were moved back into our former room.

Then, we met Dr Douchebag.

I don't know what Dr Douchebag's real name is. But he's a doctor and he's a douchebag, and I find alliteration has orgasmic qualities, so I like to use it a lot. Dr Douchebag couldn't care less about hours and hours of heavy bleeding from Gabby's nose, 'cause it's not like that's a symptom of a brain tumour or anything. Then, when I pointed out some of her other symptoms, he gave me the dirtiest look ever. "I'm only trying to help." "Really?"



Yes, sunshine, arse hole, douchebag, really. A note to any doctors: congratulations, you know how to regurgitate medical textbooks under exam pressure, bully for you. But, if you don't listen to the person your patient has brought with the, you might, screw that, will have missed something important. People aren't confined by medical textbooks. People have  medical histories and react to different environments and if I say something about Gabby wasn't right, I am trying to help. Because when someone has been bleeding for hours and freaking hours from their freaking face and I then give you other symtoms she has been exhibiting, it could be freaking well important you moronic, cock-sucking, freaking douchebag.

Never coming back here again.

And then, how dare you, you smug, shite, douchebag, mock us for not knowing what Tylenol and others meds are. For some reason, you Canadians think it's okay to use brand names for your meds. Meanwhile, over in the Motherland, y'know, the country that made yours, we call paracetemol by its actual freaking name.

And while we're on a rant, $650 for seven hours of waiting in a freezing cold emergency room, sleeping on a dirty floor, a couple of Tylenol and the biggest douchebag to have ever gone through medical school, it's a shambles. Long live the NHS. Because the treatment Gabby received was worth, at most, $50; however, because she is this thing called a human being and is therefore covered by the UN Declaration of Human Rights and therefore entitled to healthcare, over in Great Britain, we compassionate, non-morons know that means free health care.

Rant over.





The One With My Jewish Canadian Writers Class

I love you. You have been my favourite class ever ever in my whole life.

Assorted moments from class.

And now you're all over. Amazing prof, wonderful people - Samantha Colley you really are my favourite Canadian!

My favourite Canadian.

The thing with the British education system is it sucks out the very concept of knowledge just for the sake of knowledge, learning just for the very joy of learning. This class has re-ingited a passion for learning.

Possibly the piece of work I'm most proud of.

One of those once-in-a-lifetime things, thanks to my third year abroad.

The One Where Snow Is Falling

Look what's come to Ottawa!

 

 

(Prepare for imminent blog post titled 'The One Where I Slip on Ice and Break my Neck and End Up in a Canadian A&E).

 

Look at me all happy in the snow!

 

The One With My 21st Birthday

Birthday cake!

21/11/12. What a date, what a date. Not only was it a pallindrome, it was also my birthday, my 21st birthday to be precise. To Canadians, the 21st birthday means diddly squat, but it's a big deal in the UK and I was determined to make the most of it. Thanks to some incredible friends, it was a wonderful wonderful time.

You know you're old when you have to buy your own birthday cake, but I think I may have had the absolute best cake of my life. Loblaws did me proud. It was gorgeous and moist and chocolatey and there was fondant and sugar flowers and it was wonderful. Although, the waitress in Royal Oak did give me, Gabby and Lydia weird looks like she though we were going to eat the entire thing ourselves. Whilst that would have been well within our eating abilities, we only had a slice each - how restrained are we?



Cooper cuddles!

I guess 8.30am-8.30pm classes aren't the way many people would choose to celebrate their birthday, but those are my two favourite classes, and they have some of my favourite people in them, which was utterly joyous. In Jewish Lit, I shared around the cake, complete with Prof Mayne disappearing off to get napkins and forks. He didn't bring back the bottle of champagne in his office though, I'm obviously not his favourite student that much! Being in a billingual institution, I got sung two verses of Happy Birthday, one in English and one in French. It was glorious!

The day after was just an extension of my birthday. It began with cake for breakfast, which is always a bonus. I then got to spend the late afternoon with my favourite Canadian ever, Cooper the puppy and his owner, Sam. Okay, so Sam and Cooper might tie for favourite Canadian...Sam had even decorated her apartment in balloons and birthday banners and it was so heart-warming! Love her! Then we had a re-match of Disney Scene It 2, and this time she beat my ass big time. She wouldn't even let me have the birthday treat of winning. But I did get lots of Cooper cuddles!



Baby Jesus!

In the evening, I went to Zak's (obviously) for a birthday celebration. Team Exeter was complete with the wonderful addition of Jon; my favourite Dutch people in the world, Lisanne and Yvet came, as did Lihan AND we were joined by Emma. Emma I haven't seen since I was six and she was eight. We went to primary school and church together before she moved out to Montreal and it was so good to see her! But also so bizarre to hear her speak with a Canadian accent! Anyway, the evening was more than wonderful. People were so generous with their time and humour and cards and gifts and I felt thoroughly spoilt. Massive amount of love for the make-your-own Nativity set from the Dutch Posse, including the best picture of baby Jesus I have ever seen in my life.

Best birthday ever? I don't just think so, I know so.



Joy.

The One Where Santa Claus Comes To O-Town

It's winter, I'm in Canada, and yet I'm still in no coat and my tights and flats combo. Go figure. The Canadians, I have discovered, have been telling porky pies about them being hardy for the cold. Whilst they're all wrapped up warm, I'm basking in the 8 degrees C and loving coat-less and boot-less life! But, with winter comes Christmas! And Ottawa has gone a little bit Christmas crazy. First of all, Santa is now settled in the Rideau Centre every weekend for the forseeable future. I had to go for a compromise between social convention and my intimate desire when it came to Rideau Centre Santa. Social convention dictates that, age 20, it's not ok to go sit on Santa's lap and have a photot taken. But I like Santa, and he didn't set my dodgy-old-man radar off, so I wanted a picture with him. In the end, I went for the sneaky I've got an iPhone that I'm just holding up in the direction of something. Fortunately, Santa saw and gave a litte wave! See, Santa is great!

Santa!

The Rideau Centre fun was not over with Santa. Oh no. The food court is an interesting place; it's super-crowded and a haven for slightly dodgy, definitely-stodgy fast food, including a KFC which sells poutine. One of the problems with going on a Saturday is that it's impossible to get a seat, which means having to irritate the lone people taking up a whole table, and asking to sit there whilst just sitting and not taking no for an answer. So Team Exeter are chatting about life over dinner whilst this woman sits sulkily on her own, texting. Anyway, I say something about my period. This lone woman puts down her phone, gives me the dirtiest look I have ever seen, and then skulks off. So, if you ever find yourself trying to get rid of somebody, just start talking about your period. (This may not work for men).

I went to see Skyfall which was amazing - and my first ever Bond film. Daniel Craig's torso is a delight. Killing Judi Dench was not cool. I got very British in the cinema afterwards, bleeting on about how it must be some kind of capital crime to kill Judi Dench and all the Canadians thought I was adorable.

Didn't you get the memo?

Intro to Ab Soc this week has shown what may well have been an Inuit porn film, complete with an Inuit throat singing soundtrack. Turns out that groceries in Nunavut are extortionate. Like $80 for diapers extortionate. We also watched a mocumentary by an Inuit group which included the great conversation: "Does he walk fast?" "He walks fast because he's always late." You may have needed to be there. Yvet and I also played the "didn't you get the memo? Don't be so touristy!" gag in our uOttawa stash.

Christina turned up to Women in North American Christianity with ice cream, again. Love that girl! She then continued to abuse me in the Ressa meeting, voting against me in the ratification ceremony. So mean, so mean. I'm gonna have to get all colonial on her ass!

And, I am now coursework free for 2012! Thank goodness, I can't take much more of research when all the books use the bloody Oxford comma.

Loving life.

Yes it does.

 

The One With A Letter To Synod

You will hear many different opinions today and in the coming weeks and years about women bishops and today's vote by the General Synod. For the women who seek the, what I think is, a God-given right to be ordained bishop, there will be many many blogs reflecting on today. They shall be far more eloquent and humble and lack the typos I am renowned for, but here are my thoughts on today and its implications.

In terms of Christian journey, I am indebted to some of the mostly godly men I know: Hugh Boorman, Vaughn Lawfull, Larry Kavanagh, Gareth Wilde, Mike Pilavachi and a whole host of male clergy and Christians on Twitter. These people are the ones who first gave me the opportunities to preach in church and are the ones who send thousands of prayers up for me when I worry about who on earth I am to be speaking up in church.

As part of the Ladygrove Church in Didcot, Oxfordshire, I feel so blessed to have been brought up in a church where Spirit-led women leaders and preachers was not debated but lived. Consequently, I have in my 20 years of church-going, seen women used by God to bring healing and salvation on a massive scale.

Upon going to university, I first encountered Christians who held the opposing view of women in the church, to me. As a theology undergraduate, I encountered male students who scoff at my degree because of my gender, and because it is at a "normal" university as opposed to a theological college. Within the Christian Union, a university society, I witnessed leadership-gifted women sidelined by the belief that they were somehow inferior, and that this was a biblical truth.

I'm not going to get into Bible debates here.

I realised at the conclusion of my first year at university, that part of the very essence of who I am as a Christian had been effectively suffocated by my church/CU situation at university. Suddenly I had become meek and mild and too afraid to challenge "the big boys" who were "theologically sound." At a church weekend away, a third year student said to me, 'I just couldn't take a woman preacher seriously.' And I, to my shame, said nothing, I just smiled.

In second year, I developed a reputation for being...gobby. I break the mold of that perfect Christian girl and challenged the guys on what I saw as misogyny being passed off as theology. It didn't get me any friends, it got me a repuation; it got me the butt of jokes about rebuking and what have you.

If you follow me on Twitter then you know that I make jokes all the time about how people assume I'm going to be ordained and that I'm trying to avoid it. The thing is, God has threatened me with ordination. (Potentially wrong word choice there!) God has made it really quite clear that he's given me a gab for a reason, and it is for his use. But that gifting isn't acknowledged by the majority of Christians I know. It's frustrating and it's humbling and it really really hurts.

I thought the vote today would be a yes. Not out of arrogance but because I couldn't see how anyone could ignore women who have been so obviously called. I love the Church of England, which is why I think it just hurts so much right now that the church I love doesn't believe in me. That the church which contains the first men to affirm me as a person is the same church which has wounded me so much.

Because God, in his infinite wisdom, has given me a heart of the women of today; the ones like me who've endured utter rubbish. God has given me a divine kick up the backside to bring restoration and healing in His name to a hurting and broken generation.

Today, I've discovered that it's not just my generation of women God wants me to take the good news to. It's to the phenomenal women priests of today whose dog collars have just been spat on by Synod. To my generation of Christian girls: our female inspirations and affirmers need us to keep on fighting for restoration in Jesus' name.

Today's vote won't get rid of me from the Church of England. I love it too darn much, because I love a God who's made me, ordained me, that way.

Synod's decision wasn't a great 21st Birthday present for me.

The One With A Visit To Ottawa Police Station

uOttawa Protection Services.

What an ominous title...There's a great Twitter hashtag doing the rounds at the moment: #YOHOYA. It's like YOLO for year abroad-ers and it stands for You Only Have One Year Abroad. With that slogan, us year abroad-ers are officially given license to do as many crazy and weird and unique things as humanly possible on our years abroad. But I don't imagine that when this philosophy came into inception, that spending a Friday night in a police station was quite what it meant.

Now, I'm not going to go into details, but I do have permission to blog about this, fear not. Basically, a friend of mine was assaulted. First of all, we went to the Protection Services at uOttawa which is the kind of Exeter Estate Patrol equivalent. After the supreme bravery of my friend in giving a statement to protection, we were then advised to go to the police. Thanks for the life, Protection. Oh no wait, you didn't give us one.



Police Station.

So it's Friday night and we're at Ottawa Police Station. Get this: you have to use a touch screen application to alert them of your presence and the nature of your visit. Yes, that means that if you turn up to report a sexual assault, you have to select that option on a computer screen. What. The. Hell? To make matters worse, my friend then had to recount the entire story again in front of the entire waiting room so that the person behind the counter could deal with her report. BUT, after telling him that Protection had told her to come to the Police, this guy then said he couldn't do anything without the statement she made first to Protection.

Back in the taxi we hop, back to Protection. Protection can't hand over the statement to the police without having a case number from the police. My friend then calls the police; but they have no record of the visit because they couldn't complete a report without having the initial statement. So now, my friend is caught between a rock and a hard place. Protection can't hand over her statement without a case number from the police and the police won't give a case number without the initial statement.

Bloody ticket machine.

Meanwhile, how many thousands of, sorry to generalize, women are being assaulted every single sodding day and then the police have the audacity to urge women to step forward and report it? Why should they report it when you don't care? When you put them through the humiliation of selecting 'sexual assault' on a computer screen? When you make them live the experience in front of everyone else in the waiting room? And when you won't then do anything about it?

Bloody hell, thank goodness my friend is strong enough that the actions of the Police haven't completely destroyed her after what happened on Wednesday night. Thank goodness she was able to confide in me and have someone to accompany her to the police station and tell her chicken anti-jokes. The whole situation has royally hacked me off. It's abominable the way my friend has been treated and I am furious. As someone who has been sexually assaulted (thank you Exeter FC fan for groping my breasts and giving my vagina a squeeze), it winds me right up that still the police could be so incompetent and insensitive. She wasn't reporting a missing cat, she was reporting a situation which, had she not been skilled in self defense, could have ended fatally. Moreover, how many women have been pulled into vans and then, y'know, murdered?

Turns out that injustice against women truly is a universal problem. Sort it out, Ottawa. Sort it out, World. I've had enough. My friend has had enough. Every single woman I know has had enough. Violence against women in abhorrent; it's unacceptable. And we can do something about it if every case is treated by Police with the severity and respect it deserves.

The One With An Ode To Zak's Diner

Wearing Ottawa across my heart.

In the past three days, I've written something like 10,023 words for two research papers, one on Kateri Tekakwitha and the other on Canada's response to Jews in World War Two. I really hope my prof isn't feeling too patriotic when she grades the latter one...Sorry, Canada, I do love you really. But only letting 5000 Jews into Canada throughout the whole of the Second World War, seriously? You had so much space you could have done so much good with!

Library sign fills me with rage.

Apart from discovering that Canada's historical closest is full of Jewish-shaped skeletons, contemporary Canada has a serious issue with stationery. Back in Exeter, Didcot - anywhere I go in England, I am able to own a decent hole punch and stapler, no problem. Not too big that you can't cart it around, but not too small that you can punch or staple anything without shattering your wrist in the process. I've been in Canada for over ten weeks now, and I am still yet to find a normal, simple hole punch. I've looked in every stationery aisle of every single store in Ottawa and Toronto, and I have only found a store selling hole punchers once - and it sold $50 industrial ones. What's more, I can't tell you the sheer number of Canadians I've asked for help in my quest for stationery, who just don't get what I'm on about. I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that normal-sized holed punchers just have not reached Canada yet. Don't even get me started on staplers. I bought this crappy small thing which doesn't know how to staple and probably couldn't attach thin sheets of paper together if its (inanimate) life depended on it. Yes, moving to another country was always going to throw up different ways of doing things, but stationery? Isn't stationery a universal need? CANADA: WHERE THE HECK IS YOUR NORMAL SIZED, FUNCTIONING STATIONERY?

I've got a chip on my shoulder.

As for Canadian wall tack...well, it's flipping well useless. Other useless Canadian things include my shoes bought less than a month ago from the Giant Tiger Store which have disintergrated and left me walking around campus with toes peeping out the front of the shoe. It wouldn't have been so bad if my tights didn't have holes in the toes. Can you tell it's been research paper deadline week? (It's also been womb lining expulsion week, but I didn't want to gross out any of my male readers...damn, periods suck in Canada when you can't console yourself with Chocolate because Canadian Cadbury's tastes like cardboard).

My doodles.

Shopping in general has been weird this week. The over-friendly guy in Mac's thinks I'm from Switzerland, and no matter how hard I try, I just can't convince him otherwise. Meanwhile, the univeristy bookstore is playing Christmas music. This would be wonderful if it wasn't a collection of dodgy covers. But, I am now proudly flaunting my "school spirit" in a uOttawa hoody. Represent. I am also displaying the remnants of a black eye after being hit in the face with an iPad. Yes, my iPad means I need an eyePatch. Punilicious. Word of advice: don't balance an iPad on your tits, it's not a stable surface, and when it falls, it hits you really hard in the face.

Sam's doodles.

Two Canadian friends in particular have been absolute gems this week. The first in Michael the autistic library worker who can't lie and knows a lot about geography. I will too by the end of the year. Also, he knows that I always go for the same seat and usually at the same time, and  he says he'll save it for me. Whilst this is brilliant, (I'm quite territorial over library seats), it does mean that I now have to go to the library each and every Saturday for fear of upsetting Michael. Then, in Jewish Canadian Writers, Sam and I had a doodle-off. I totes won.

Feminst Prof Anderson is officially my hero. Not only did she describe Chinese religions by comparing them to different times of underwear - Daoism is boxers, Confucionism is corsets - but she also had a massive rant about why should she have to do the housework in preparation for her in-laws descending on her house? To quote: "I have a PhD, why do I have to vacuum?"

And Zak's, oh Zak's Diner. Here is my love song to you.

An Ode to Zak's Diner

Zak, of Zak, I love you so,

Just how much, you will never know.

Your soda on tap fills me with delight,

And your 24-hour opening means I never have to fight

My hunger pangs, and cravings for a burger.

Speaking of which, a Banquet Speical I could murder.

The water without asking is brought with a smile,

I tip you without fail for your service goes the extra mile.

You cater to my every need,

Your only desire is to feed

Me and my friends, you think our Britishness is quaint.

Quick - bring me a deep fried Mars Bar, I'm feeling quite faint!

From your burgers and sauces and well-seasoned fries,

The complentary buble gum is a delightful surprise.

Oh Zak, what will I do without you, I do not know.

I guess, Canada, Zak, I'll just never go.

Copyright Sleek HB Pencil.

Blog post dedicated to Charlotte Knipe.

The One With Mission Moose-Stealer

With bears it's safe to cuddle.

When you think of Canada, you think of three things: maple, Mounties and moose...meese...mooses, or whatever the plural of 'moose' is. Well, on Saturday, I saw my first ever moose and Mission Moose-Stealer was officially a-go! Parc Omega is a Canadian safari-esque experience about an hour or so away from Ottawa, near Montebello in Quebec. Upon first getting the Facebook invitation to go, I frantically thumped Gabby in the arm as we were in the library and it is generally frowned upon to emit loud, high-pitched sqeals. Mind you, it's also socially unacceptable to eat crips in the library, but I laugh in the face of danger, like animated lion cubs in Disney epics. The problem with events run by uOttawa's International Office, is that they are massively over-subscribed, which inevitably leads to tickets being sold out within hours and then much whining ensues on the Facebook group about how desperate they are to go and how 'it is their only chance to see these kind of animals.' Well, it is all our only chance to see these animals. I know there aren't many moose a-wandering around Brazil, but there aren't that many in Blighty either. To quote Tina Fey, 'suck it.'

Sexy the wapiti.

Probably the best part of Parc Omega is that you get to feed some of the animals carrots as you travel around in your vehicle. Now, I don't know whether you've ever tried to feed a wapiti out of a North American school bus, but it is a challenge and a half. First of all, to prevent moronic parents suing the school bus company if their obnoxious child chooses to jump out of bus window, the windows only open a tiny bit, and right at the top part of the window. This meant that if you were short, you basically couldn't feed any of the animals. And if you were of awkward height, like myself, it meants constantly slamming my head against the ceiling and slicing my armpit open as I tried to get my carrot to reach various deer and wapitis. The wild boar just got carrots thrown at them. Not that I was playing target practice, but quite a few got carrots bouncing off the old boar bottom...



After a while, the novelty of deer wandering passed my window wore off. I mean, we have deer in the UK. Granted, they are usually dead by the side of the McDonalds off the Milton Interchange of the A34, and don't look like they've just leapt straight out of 'Bambi' but still, you can only see so many deer. There were wapitis. Yeah, I had to Google them before I went to the parc because I didn't know what they were. I still don't. I think they're glorified deer. They're bigger, have bigger antlers. The most impressive wapiti in the parc is called Sexy. Yes, Sexy. Have you ever looked at a deer-like creature and thought, 'you are one sexy beast?' After 'Bambi' is it even possible to think of a deer being sexy? There's a reason why there is no Bambi porn movie. Have you ever heard of sexual fetishes involving antlers? Sexy the wapiti isn't what I'd call sexy, but then again, I'm not tempted by bestiality. Another issue I have with naming a wapiti Sexy, is that it is really rather unfair on the other wapitis. (Note to self: find out what the plural of wapiti is). Just because their antlers aren't as big doesn't mean they're not sexy. It's just promoting unhealthy body image amongst the wapiti community. And it's just not on.



There were beaver dams. There were no beavers. I swear, the presence of beavers in Canada is a complete and utter fabrication. There were Canada geese. There were chipmunks. There were black squirrels. The Dutch and Aussies went mental at this point as, apparently, Holland and Australia don't have squirrels. Please, take our grey ones! And there were wild boar which made me think of Pumba, and then I remembered that was set in a completely different continent and with a completely different species of animal. Got to admit though, baby wild boars are cute!

Too cute!

Just not as cute as artic foxes. These must be the most adorable and the most fluffy animals to have ever roamed God's wonderful earth. It was, er, so fluffy I could die. I've asked the mother if I could have one for Christmas, but the spoilsport that she is, she replied in the negative. What is it with small, fluffy animals? Can you imagine the population problem if babies were small and fluffy? Boy, it would tempt this unmarried woman to pre-marital breeding. I should get a puppy to keep me occupied.

Parc Omega contains one of the most beautiful cliches known to man: the lone wolf. There is a lone wolf. He's old and the rest of his pack died, so now he's living out his last days in solitude, metres away from a herd of bison with just a metal gate protecting him. But I'm sure he's endowed with many of the qualities associated with lone wolves, namely an inate sociopathy.

Chilling with Bambi.

There was one point on the safari when we were let loose from the bus and allowed to go feed some animals in a way that didn't kill our limbs. It was more deer. As if we hadn't fed enough sodding deer by that point. Yet, the photos betray me, as they show my face full of pure joy at feeding a deer a gross carrot from LobLaws. I kept reffering to all the deer I tried to coax my way as 'Bambi.' What else would you call a deer? I also discovered that my talking-to-deer voice is the same as my talking-to-babies voice which I used at St Len's creche last year. In other words, I talk to the 18 month old daughter of two Oxford graduates the same way I talk to a Canadian deer.

A bit too close for comfort.

One of my major character flaws upon being in the presence of animals, is recounting tales of the animals I have eaten. This happened upon seeing the bison. Shockingly, we weren't allowed to feed them because they would ram the bus, killing us all and I don't think my insurance covers me for bison attacks in Quebec. Bison is tasty. Massive heffing bison standing in front of your bus is annoying. Have you ever tried to get a 7000 pound bison to move without making it want to kill you? It's a challenge.



Where still the mighty moose wanders at will?

My favourite song, my favourite even above any Shania Twain song, is 'Land of the Silver Birch' which features the line 'where still the mighty moose wanders at will.' Well, I've been waiting my whole life for this image to be fulfilled. And it was - ish. Fog the moose, (named thus because it was foggy the day he arrived), is a lazy moose. There was no mightiness, and certainly no wandering. He just lay on the ground. To be fair, he's probably suffering from depression and seasonal affective disorder as the name Fog confers upon him. (I'm an expert in moose mental health.) I was tempted to steal him, but he had a goat for a body guard (no joke), called Copine or Friend. Why? Because Fog is an orphan so they felt he needed a friend, and they got a goat and just named him according to his purpose. Now, if we all did that, my name would me Keep Me In The Retirement I Want To Become Accustomed To. I can't help but feel a little bit dejected about the whole moose thing. I don't want to steal a grump moose, I want a mighty moose like in the song!



Hey cutie!

I also want a black bear. But a domesticated one that won't rip my head off when I cuddle it. From the safety of the bus, I auditioned the black bears at Parc Omega, but they were all just a tad too violent when meat was thrown their way. They may look cute and cuddly, but post-mortem photos after being mauled by one won't look so adorable. That's the problem with nature, you want to cuddle them and they want to kill you. Unless you're a hunter, in which case it's the other way round.

Other animals included one coyote; arctic wolves, alpine ibeks and more and more deer/wapiti/wild boar. There were also two baby moose. They also didn't look mighty or wandering, but give it a few months, and I may return and see if they are ready to fulfill my childish need to have some folk song become a reality. I think I need to head West for this mission!

Mission Moose-Stealer is still in operation. And as for you, beaver population of Canada, I will find you before the year is out.