The one of a kind show
Oakville Travel Blog› entry 52 of 96 › view all entries
December 11th, 2008 – by: AndyBrook
And then, just when you think sheâs not going to go, she twitches forward for an instant and then returns to her catatonic stare out of the window.
Another bitterly cold gust of wind forces it way through the gap Iâve left in the door. Still standing over her with my hand on the door handle my patience starts to wear thin. She can sense it in the tone of my voice, so she makes another lurch and another abrupt hesitation. My fingers are going numb. Its only â4 out, so I clearly havenât managed to season myself to the Canadian climate yet. Wuss.
âOk go! Go in 3âŚ2âŚ1âŚ.ok thatâs it. Iâm shutting the door now.â
Her piercing glare analysing the fence at the end of the garden as if the fence was about to make itâs closing chess move.
âok I really am going to shut the door now.â
I shut the door.
Her link with the outside is broken; irritated she turns to me and whines in a longing fashion.
âno, you had your chance. Muffed it.â
And so begins the hourly routine of being pestered and eventually relenting, but I will forgive her for her catatonic stare, because after all she is a cat and sometimes she does actually go out.
Iâve rather foolishly booked an exam. Which kind of means I now have to revise for it. Even more foolishly I had to book it for new years eve, to take advantage of an exam fee offer. This I find a little ironic, because of new years resolutions. Being that one of mine from this year was to get the dang exam done. Iâll choose more carefully next year, with things that are easily achievable in the first, say three months.
My big sis took me to the âone of a kind showâ at Exhibition place in Toronto.
âwe need to pick up (I) later, but no worriesâ my sister says, âweâll see the whole place in a couple of hoursâ
My jaw drops as we enter the arena, and I suddenly get an appreciation of how absolutely huge it is, a couple of hours wonât suffice.
The direct energy centreâs main hall is populated for several days by artisans touting their wares at extortionate prices.
When we were both sick of the artsy and craft-sty we had a quick crepe and pegged it off to try and catch the train home. Unfortunately we saw it draw off the platform as we rounded the corner and were left with a long wait for the next one. After half an hour in the freezing waiting room we pealed ourselves out of our frozen huddle and into the warmth of the train.
Which leads me on to the topic of urban jingles. These are the sound bites created by everyday infrastructure. For example the ding of a lift when it reaches the desired floor (womenâs hosiery and garden equipment) or the âwarning this vehicle is reversing beebopâ signature you are undoubtedly familiar with. The Toronto subway trains for another, they insist on playing the first three notes of notes of âdaisy, daisyâ whenever the train stops and the doors open. In theory I donât have a problem with this, itâs just that the remaining notes then lodge themselves in my head, only to be repeated at the next stop. My dismay at the transit authority is as nothing to my confusion went I encounter the local pedestrian crossings. I approach in the usual manner for a Brit: looking the wrong way and discovering again that people drive on the wrong side in this country. I replace my initial surprised expression with a confident scan of the far pavement and then a sheepish look at the road in the correct direction. Hopefully nobody noticed. I press the button; a small light comes on telling me that I have successfully pressed the button. All is going well, until my road crossing experience is interrupted with a croaky recording, emanating from the traffic light switch box:
âPlease weigh the onesickle.â
As yet I have not managed to decipher what a onesickle is, I imagine its some sort of icicle whose weight is quite important to traffic lights.
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