#EdGoesToRonto: The Cringe Factor

It's been over a month since I last blogged, which means that I'm owing, both in terms of apologies and words. The fact of the matter is, I've been really, really busy. Harry Redknapp at the end of a transfer window busy. I have two exams left, two weeks to mess about in this great adopted city of mine, and then I'm back home to England on the 20th December!

I'd like to say that the events in this blog can only happen to an ex-pat. You know the sort- hilarious cross-cultural encounters that arise when England meets Canada. LOL-worthy moments involving pronunciation, points of reference, and the cold. Oh, so cold.

In actual fact, I'm starting to believe that the events in this blog can only really happen to me. For one, they've already happened, so that's a bit of a truism. Secondly, some of the moments are seriously worthy of cringe, so if you're of a nervous disposition, look away now and go and read the script of The Office. It'll probably be less painful.

I'm not wanting to imply that the events of my Year Abroad are in any way similar to one of the most controversial moments in history, but by using that old, tiresome, journalistic manner of sticking '-gate' to any event, this thing will at least resemble something vaguely journalistic, and won't just be a self-indulgent ramble. That's something to cling to.

Number One: Blues fan-gate
I've really missed going down the Blues this year. Yes, we're terrible, but it's always felt like a struggle supporting us, so that wouldn't really affect my attendance. It's been the little things, like sitting down next to someone you barely know and saying 'Oryte mate, down't fancy us much today, do ya?'

So imagine my surprise, at the start of September, walking round the affluent docks of Toronto, when I spotted a flash of Royal Blue and White. ¡No puede ser! Could this be the solution to my football homesickness? Someone to discuss Lee Novak with?

So needy and desperate to find Blue and White friends that I've started wearing this wherever I go

First, I had to make absolutely sure. No-one wants to be accused of being a Birmingham City fan, falsely or otherwise, especially in front of a crowd of people, probably on holiday. So what I did, was, I broke from my newly adopted Canadian branch of the Edtourage, and did a fast walk, went past the Bluenose, and checked back with a quick jerk of the neck. It confirmed what I already knew.

Make no mistake, I'm a sad bastard, and I know a shirt from 2004-5 when I see one. I could, obviously, have ignored him, and carried on my life. But to recognise your team's shirt, in a foreign land, and ignore it? Not in my name, son! I positively bounded up to him.

'OYMM MOYTE, YOU'M A BLUES FAN?!'
'What? Me? Who? Where? Excuse me?'
'You'm! Blues fan! Your shirt! Are you a Blues fan? Do you ever go? Strange, you don't expect to find many Blues fans out here, what do you reckon to Clark, think he'll turn it around? Where do you normally sit-'
'The shirt? Err, I... No... I've never been to Birmingham. I've never been to a game, I'm Norwegian. I just have the shirt. Sorry'.

And with that, he hurried off, scared, baffled, but probably not as baffled as I was.

Number Two: Wasabi-gate
After a pretty dull Saturday, I hollered up my flatmate Lauren to see if she wanted to get dinner. Lauren, although of British Columbia, knows all the best places round town. They say that in Toronto, you can get food from any country you like. With Lauren, it becomes a lot easier.

She suggested sushi. Lovely, I thought, I've never had sushi. I'm middle class, but not middle class enough, clearly.

We sat down, table for two, with a menu that I didn't really understand. I didn't want to let on how little I knew, so stabbed indiscriminately with a chopstick at a number and waited for it to arrive.

The food arrived. A few circles of stuff, some fish in the middle, lots of rice, and some green stuff on the end. Probably an arty green sauce. Guacamole, maybe. Hold on, isn't that Mexican? Must be fusion food. I'm no Giles Coren.

I can't use chopsticks. I've tried, and I just can't. I've inherited my Dad's skills in that respect. I think he tried once, threw them across the room after five seconds, yelled that his food was getting cold and went off to get a spoon.

Now in hindsight, I should have inherited that brazen quasi-xenophobia, and just asked the waiter for a knife and fork. But no, I'm an idiot, and idiots are nothing if not relentless. From the air, my chopsticks dancing around the restaurant must have looked like Bambi on Ice. Or, a bit like You've Been Framed, when a bloke has one leg in the boat, and one on dry land, and the two separate... At one point they flew out of my hand and into Lauren's plate and then onto the floor, so commencing the most awkward cutlery retrieval in restaurant history, whilst I received applause for being the night's cabaret.

So I stabbed around for a bit, got a bit annoyed, ate some ginger when I thought it might have been smoked salmon, but I still persevered.

Finally, a bit of success, when a ring of stuff stuck on the chop stick. Delighted, and not knowing if I'd ever reach this position again, I drenched it in the guacamole. Yum, avocado.

It wasn't avocado.

Guacamole

Wasabi

A burning sensation, similar to drinking Turps, I should imagine, gripped my throat. Mustard gas. They'd clearly found out I was studying Modern Espionage and wanted to kill me. I reached for the Coke. Still I was dying. Lauren looked on, aghast at the scene I was causing, but also with confusion and mirth.

I'd eaten an entire block of wasabi. In one. Enough, probably, to tranquilize a Japanese horse. And now my throat was on fire. Eventually I gathered my senses, was told of my mistake, and moved on.

'Toronto's great for food', they said...

Number Three: Santa Claus Parade-Gate
Perhaps not as awkward, but no less bizarre. Walking down the street one November 17th, I saw a couple of inflatable snowmen. It couldn't be a dream, as the cold was real, and my bed is warm. But it was November, and this was Christmas, apparently, here to annoy us curmudgeonly types once again.

I inquired of the point of this event to a woman wearing a t-shirt saying 'Santa Claus Parade TODAY', and she informed me that there was a Santa Claus Parade. TODAY. On November 17th!

She handed me a Santa hat, and so I stood, looking like a presenter from Top of the Pops in the 1980s, amongst the children of Toronto. Hours passed, and I'd still seen nothing worth reporting.

Then, it came. Thousands upon thousands of people dressed up as animals, elves, princes, princesses, marching bands, coffee cups, toasters and Christmas trees. It was like the Disney Parade on acid.

A display of marching so choreographed one hadn't seen this side of 1945

There was an awful lot of marching and flag-waving. I did feel like I was watching history repeat itself in that respect, but at least there was no talk of invasions. Just materialism. Lots of lovely materialism.

Proud sponsor of Christmas. Beat that one, John Lewis and your mangy bear.

A weird thing happened that day. I think I was visited by three ghosts during the Santa Claus Parade, as I ended up feeling festive. On November 17th. I know, I feel sick too. It's hard not to in Toronto. I was chatting to a friend out in California the other day, and she feels like Christmas is ages away, because it hasn't gone cold yet. Here, meanwhile, it feels like Christmas should have been, gone, had a shower, and left before the first football match of Boxing Day.

***
I started off intending to write of five moments, but like I said, I'm busy. Redknapp-busy.

So, to conclude, I could probably fill a book with these misdemeanours, but some of them are so bad they're not even fit for public consumption, and the others I'm saving for my sitcom.

Just a friendly reminder, that wherever you are in the world, the Cringe Factor will still find you.