The Aran Islands can wait…

OK. I want to write a long, long (but interesting) bit o'fun about my trip to the Aran Islands that I just got back from today. BUT...I am way too tired. As I haven't blogged for a bit I thought I'd copy Alice and get a little meme action going. I'm lazy OK? And I like to copy.

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says.
' "I feel so much less scared about the whole thing now I know you're going to be with me."' (A little longer than the one line, but people, the line in it's purity made no sense. No sense I tell you.)

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can...what do you touch first?
The tapestry cushions I got from Islantbul when I spent money like I actually had it.

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?
The last 20 minutes of a game of hurley (it's Irish and I know I'm spelling it wrong). From what I gather it's a mix of British football, rugby, field hockey, basketball and the egg and spoon race. I would love to play it if they didn't keep beating each other with their sticks. They don't wear padding - ouch!

4. WITHOUT LOOKING, what time is it? 12:30 am

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
12:28 am, baby! I'm a freakin time tellin genius - plus I looked at it 15 minutes ago before I thought I'd do this. Shhh. Don't tell anyone.

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The blessed fan. I want to marry it, it's giving me so much goodness. Oh and the ding of the microwave. Baked potatoes coming right up!

7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
Just got back from Stanstead airport. Actually I've been travelling since 9 this morning. It's a long time to travel.

8. What are you wearing?
Red vest, jeans and trainers and some jewellery. I've been travelling. What do you want from me? A prom dress?

9. When did you last laugh?
Yesterday at the pub with Aoife's brothers. They are fun-ny. That's younger brothers for you.

10. Seen anything weird lately?
I saw two people in a fake boat "driving" down Shop Street in Galway. It's the arts festival and they were wearing masks so that's ok. I didn't hold it against them.

11. What did you dream last night?
Something about being in Ireland. Which was true. So it musn't have been that exciting... It's a pretty good bet that it was about work though.

12. What's on the walls of the room you're in?
Green paint in two tones, book shelves with dvds and cds and books and uh...a mirror that is leaning against the wall as I've been too lazy to actually put it up.

13. What do you think of this survey?
It's OK, but I'm getting tired. Maybe I should've just wrote about the Aran Islands like I wanted to. Now it's too late. I'm sucked in!

14. What's the last film you saw?
Working Girl. It's my favorite movie, even with Melanie Griffiths tiny helium voice. At least she looks normal. What proof she gives to stay away from Plastic Surgury.

15. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
I'd get a meal for me and all my friends to say thanks for being around...then I'd pay off all debts of me and the fam, buy a flat and then buy a ticket for around the world. I may even buy some more "summer" flats along the way.

16. Tell me something about you that I don't know.
I'm allergic to elephants. It's fact.

17. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change?
I'd give the middle East a cooler climate with heavy winters. I think you fight less if it's cold. Heat makes you angry. When you're cold, you stay inside.

18. Do you like to dance? Do I? Of course! I can't believe you had to ask...

19. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
If I was all cheezy cheerleader, I'd say Taylor...but I don't usually consider myself that so maybe Elizabeth and Jessica for Sweet Valley Twins.

20. Boy? Hmmmm....Maybe I won't have a boy. I can't think of a name.

21. Would you ever consider living abroad? It's happening as we speak...spoooooooky!

THORPE PARK!!!

Thorpe park. Amusement central of England (not including Alton towers as I've never been and so can pretend it doesn't exist.). Some people poo-poo-ed it when I said I was going but it was way fun and like, uh, totally awesome...

10 am : I am supposed to be at the front gates. Instead I have just borded a train. This will make me 1 hour late. I'm thinking no probs. In reality, people are probably annoyed but I try to convince myself otherwise.

10:45 am : I arrive at THORPE PARK. People ARE annoyed. I try to placate them with offers of pints and then get reminded that the person I offered that to doesn't drink beer. I apologize again instead of being witty and saying - pints? I meant pints of vodka not pints of beer! But I don't say that and on we go to the rides.

11 am onwards : The rides are ridden. I'm on rollar coasters where my legs dangle, I go backwards in the dark and splash through water rides with cheesy pseudo-Canadian music (no England - we don't all sound like Yukon gold miners from the 1800's no matter how cool that would actually be.)

My most favorite ride is Tidal Wave. Soaked through and through I was. The site described it as "Prepare to get soaked, this white-knuckle water ride leaves you wanting more! Climbing to 85ft then seconds later crashing to the earth with an almighty splash. Fun for everyone!" If by fun you mean get wet than yes. Thank god it wasn't raining.

After you get soaked then they have these little booths that you can stand at to dry yourselves off in afterwards which is very nice of them. And YES. You do get that wet! The water gets you in the face and then it's like it hovers in the air and then splashes down on top of your head. Insane. And also lovely in the hot weather.

4:58 pm : We try to get into the last showing of Pirates 4 - D. It starts at 5. They started early so with a heavy heart we abandon the thought of sneaking in and head to the carasol. We go around twice as we're too tired to negotiate our way off the horses. We're tired with a capital T.

6 pm : After much to-ing and fro-ing, we settle down in a local pub for drinks and grub. All their veggie options have cheese so the pub owner makes me a special dish of mushrooms, carrots and califlower, boiled potatoes and chips. In other words, all the side dishes that have no cheese or meat in them. It confused the waiter though. When he served me it, he said "Here's your...uh...plate of stuff." Delish.

11:30 pm : We walk back to our campsite. It's dark and we're walking along a small path by the thames. There are people fishing and speaking in hushtones. I hope there are no serial killers out tonight. That would totally wreck the end of our fun-filled amusement park day.

11:45 pm : There's a fight by the bathroom, some girls are crying and a group of lanky kids are smoking up by their tents. There's a woman waiting for the shower who has the same housecoat as me - the one I thought looked supersexy and slick, except it's on an over-tanned, 60 year old with peroxided hair. Maybe I'm embracing white trash England and - uh - maybe I'm secretly liking it...

12:30 pm : Off to bedfordshire. (that means I went to sleep and not actually went to the place as it is a place in England. It'd really be really silly to drive somewhere new at that time of night especially as I pitched my tent already. For those of you who've seen Brigit Jones, you'll recall that she said that exact thing on the way to bed. It's just something silly to say so I'm saying it.)

Thinking summer

He stayed there most nights
and imagined summers
the buzz of bees and lawnmowers
combining into a symphony

with the colours of pansies,
peonies and tulips, their lips
open to sun drenched afternoons.
Without a broom, the leaves stayed -

autumn vistors that gave the floors
extra crunch when he rolled
sleep an empty thing, floating past
like a dream he wanted

but never seemed to grasp,
another reminder that he
wasn't good enough for anything :
even the human basics seemed to fail him.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Toes

"..five, thix, theven.."

Rebecca counted the toes over and over just like her Daddy told her to. 10 fingers and 10 toes meant he was OK. And OK meant he could come home soon. Yet still, every morning since the day they took her Mommy into the hospital, Rebecca played by herself in the playroom.

"Don't put anything in your mouth. It's dirty," her Daddy warned her when he dropped her off in the mornings. "You don't want to get sick do you?"

Rebecca didn't want to do that. If she got sick then she couldn't see Baby Jack and that was her favoritist thing to do. On bad days, they only gave her enough time to count his fingers and toes before she got sent back to the playroom. She hated it there, the place where she was scared to touch anything. Every where Rebecca looked must be full of germs. It was dirty just like her Daddy said, she thought, even though it smelt like the floor cleaner Mommy liked to use.

Even though she saw her every day, Rebecca missed her mommy. She never hugged her or gave her tickles or butterfly kisses anymore. She smiled even though Rebecca knew she must have been crying cause Mommy's nose was all red and her eyes watery. And Daddy wasn't right either. He never smelled nice like he used to - all spicy and lemony and crisp - and his clothes were all wrinkly instead of smooth and fresh. He almost didn't look like her Daddy anymore and it scared her. Why was everyone so different? If they all went home, they could have spaghetti and a big bubble bath and then Mommy and Daddy and Baby Jack could all get in the big double bed with her and they'd all read stories. Then no one would talk in whispers or have their foreheads wrinkle up or their mouths go in funny straight lines.

So she kept counting - fingers and toes - and drew pictures for Baby Jack's walls and told him stories about what their house was like and how much he'd love it. Rebecca talked about the moon and stars she helped put on the walls with Daddy, the ones that glowed in the dark. And she made all the animal noises of all the animals in the mobile that was above the crib she slept in before she got a big girl bed. The one that he'd sleep in now. She kept counting day after day until her Mommy's nose lost the red and Daddy made a smile that showed teeth and Baby Jack came out of his little glass box and they told her they were all leaving. Baby Jack was going to be all right.

"Of courth he ith," she said. "He'th got all the fingerth and all the toeth. He'th perfect."

Her Mommy and Daddy laughed for the first time since they rushed to the hospital that day 3 months too early for labour and motherhood. And as their laughter rained down around her, Rebecca smiled and did a little dance. They were going home at last.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Fiction by Heather Taylor

The Way

Sometimes you lose it
Find yourself in a back streets
counting nickles to give beggers
Stop to help strangers with directions

The carefully drawn map
finds its way to the bottom, shoved
under trinkets, pocket books,
the expired coupon you meant to use

It takes one wrong turn on a back road
to spark memory, cause you to burrow
unfold the story of the way you were going
And see if there's a new way to get there.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poetry by Heather Taylor

Moving On

Just yesterday it was filled with voices:
A warm laugh, a baby's first cry,
a mother mourning a first born
left home for his own happy marriage.

As the years had rolled on top of each other,
the weeks of making pickles and jams
absorbed in the walls; became a fond memory
as drives to shopping mall grocery stores took over.

The day oilmen struck gold on the families land,
Mom & dad breathed out dreams of even streets into air,
fantasy pavements that ran past neighbour houses
instead of grass-grown paths to endless fields.

It took barely a day to pack up heirlooms
and quilts to cram back car windows
as the front door waved goodbye in the wind,
work boots left behind in pursuit of skyscrapers.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poem by Heather Taylor

Into the Woods

It was three in the afternoon when they drove past. They wouldn't have seen it at all if she hadn't needed to roll down her window for her fifth cigarette. Five in one hour wasn't a personal best, but it was getting close. One hour. It was almost that long since they passed the last gas station. If Carrie knew it was the last one, she would've forced Kevin to pull over. She didn't, so she dreamed of peeing instead and tried to block thoughts of waterfalls as she tugged quick puffs from her cigarette. That is until she spotted the perfect spot.

Carrie had a thing about peeing in public and peeing outside was definately public. The fear of it came from a day of hiking through the woods with her Girl Guide toop. Just as she squatted to relieve herself, a unit of Boy Scouts rounded the trail. She didn't know what was redder - her face, the troop leader's or her bum after she realized she settled in poisen oak for her quick pee. It was the final proof that she wasn't cut out to hike or camp or do anything, anywhere without plumbing and central heating. So when she felt that jiggle, sloshy need to get to a bathroom, she wouldn't let him just pull into the ditch for a quick one. She needed shelter and shelter didn't come easy on the prairies.

The buildings were barely a speck on the horizon as they made their way down a overly gravelled side road. Kevin's teeth were grinding which meant he was worried about the paint job but she was beyond caring. All she could do was will the buildings closer and closer until they were no longer a mirage but reality.

Kevin had barely stopped the car when Carrie bounded out, hell bent for the most hidden spot as she unbuckled and unzipped her pants. She didn't notice the ground or the buildings or anything beyond the shadows of the leaning farm houses and her overfull bladder. Squatting, she let everything go and felt that rush of happy emptiness.

Shit. Toilet paper. In her haste, Carrie forgot her purse in the car. She hated dripping dry. It never worked and then she'd have to sit in slightly damp panties for the rest of the drive. Her eyes darted from the peeling paint of the sloping building - ouch - and onto the greenness of the wide leaves around her. Good enough for Adam and Eve, good enough for me, she thought as she pulled at the plants and wiped herself. Straightening, Carrie did up her zipper, button and belt and started her meander back to the car.

Ten steps in the burning began and then the slow itch. Could it really be? Why didn't she remember the tell tale leaves, the subtle markings. As her meander turned into a crawl, she pulled herself towards the car. She could see Kevin singing along to the Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" which would have made her laugh if the itching hadn't taken over her brain.

It took almost a full verse and chorus before he saw her writhing on the ground. White faced, he ran from the car.

"Don't-" she screamed. "Don't. Come. Any. Closer! It's poison oak. It's poison oak."

Shocked still, Kevin looked her up and down as the Bangles countinued their ode to Egyptian dance. Much to Carrie's annoyance, the freeze lasted barely a second before he fell to the ground in silent laughter. The tears rolled steams down his cheeks as Carrie kept on with her itch relieving wriggle. As he slowly regained his breath, Kevin's smile spread his face into a grin and he finally said what she thought she'd only hear over candlelight, by a moonlit lake or when eating some sinful cake concoction. Her answer was supposed to be elegant and completely memorable like the one she'd practised in the mirror since she was 10. At least she remembered one thing from Girl Guides - be prepared.

"Will you marry me?"

Be prepared she learned in Girl Guides, yes. But here, as the poison oak countinued it's attack, all she could do was nod yes.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

WORLD CUP FEVER!

Yes the World Cup has been here and gone and the big winners, big winners are ITALY! Hoorah. I cheered for them as my good friends are Italian and I thought if I'm going to support someone, then I'll support my friends. I found myself in a teeny tiny pub in a small back street in Cambridge. It was all woody and cosy with their own beer on tap. Everyone was intent on the game except for an artist trying to sell us his paintings of American cityscapes. £650 was a bit steep but we didn't have the heart to tell him. Also we couldn't tell him that the world cup finals were on and we were actually there to see them. We're just too nice. He left before Zadane's famous Glasgow Kiss (aka headbutt) so we all got to enjoy it in it's full glory.

So Italy won and I had to run for my train to get back to London - those pesky trains don't run well on Sundays so I knew if I missed one then I'd have a long long wait and I was foolishly believing that I wouldn't miss the tube on the other end if I caught this one. I missed the tube of course and had to stand in Kings Cross waiting for my bus. I'm glad I didn't have my red lipstick and fishnets on. I may be short of cash, but not that short. I'm sure you've figured by now that it's not the nicest part of town now is it? For those of you not from London, you'll just have to believe me.

ANYWAY, I decided to head to Trafalger Square to change buses to head home and had a disjointed conversation with a couple of dejected French supporters. I said "cool headbutt huh?" And they shook their heads no and gave me looks of "the stupid American-ish girl is trying to talk football - zut alore!". Not so cool I guess. So I gave a little wave, wished them "better luck next year!" and jumped off the bus. Now I should've known this but I didn't even think. I didn't think about someone winning the World Cup and what the aftermath would be. This equated to every Italian in London in Trafalger Square. Not just in it but jumping and screaming and writhing and waving flags and singing songs I didn't know. I LOVED it! Even though it meant the buses were rammed and were all being detoured, the feeling was infectious. I wished I was Italian just for this night as I stood under Nelson's column at 1 am.

Things I learned from my Ex(s) : Part One

I was thinking the other day after I slid under my new duvet, that I love the softness of it and that I hate the flat sheet my ex used to like between them. Then I had a brainwave or maybe a brainlesswave but it was wavy none the less. So...this is a list of the things I've learned from my exes (good and bad). No names will be mentioned in case they don't do this particular thing that I loved that their new girlfriend will love or something that isn't good that this aforementioned girl may need to learn for herself...

1) Crumpets are like English muffins but better. They are good to eat covered in peanut butter and jam to be eaten whilst lying in bed watching bad Saturday Morning television.
2) I like singing in musicals. I love Stephen Sondheim and will see one of his musicals even if it's done by teenagers.
3) As I mentioned in the intro above, the only thing that should be on my bed is a duvet and my grandma's quilt. Unless you have a scratchy blanket, you don't need a flat sheet in between you and your soft downy duvet. It may not be what you do, but it's the best way for me.
4) I clap when I get excited. I stop clapping at things when I'm generally unhappy.
5) Though I don't encourage smoking, standing outside in the early morning to keep someone company while they are sneaking a cigarette is an envigorating moment of the day.
6) I don't like people to touch me when I'm being sick.
7) I don't like people to touch me when I've drunk alot and feel like being sick.
8) Eating beer on fruitloops is wrong.
9) My stomach hurts so I can't eat when I'm stressed.
10) Surprises are good - if they are good surprises. Those are the only surprises that should exist.
11) I had (sometimes have...) a weak spot for musicians and drama teachers. But never my drama teacher. That's wrong.
12) Always knock when the door is closed.
13) Everybody masterbates.
14) Silky jammies are the best thing to sleep in if you feel like sleeping in something.
15) My family is really important and are always there when things get bad. They're also there when things are good. They can occassionally be funny.
16) Friends might not like your taste in men but they'll usually still like you. Especially when it's all over and you're back to normal.
17) Friends are important. Don't ever forget that (they even understand when you don't call for the first 3 months of "new boy-ness)
18) Holidays and birthdays and anniversaries are important. I like to celebrate. I like to celebrate with people I love. Even if it's a holiday invented by hallmark, I still want to celebrate it, cause...well why not? Let's celebrate every day! We're still breathing right?
19) People who love and respect you are there for you. Those who don't, aren't. It's important to remember that.
20) I should never be allowed to have candles that are not tea lights. Tea lights burn themselves out. Pillar candles can melt candle holders, drip to the floor and burn coffee tables. Only luck can stop that from starting a fire that kills you while you are sleeping and instead blackens the walls and guarentee that you will never get your deposit back.

Jail

6 months I'm supposed to be in here. Six months is nothing right. So I'm planning to sit here, tidy-like, neat in my cell, do my time, and what's here? This fucking face. This face that's there just staring at me. First day here, right? First day here and I'm seeing this little etch-a-sketch stencilling and I think, hey a little company. Some guy was going loco and he's like this big Star Trek fan or something. Not an original but one of the new ones. Who else would put Warf on this wall here? Not that I'm a big fan or nothing just my mom watched. Like it's like she can witness the future way past what she'd live to see. I think it's kinda creepy but I'm just happy she's not one of those trekkie trekkers - what ever they call themselves these days, right?

Anyway so I thought, I'd ask around like. Not prying or anything cause you don't pry too much into somebodies business. I'm not some sucker fresh meat baby or something. I'm the Real McCoy like off those old movies and shit. But anyway, I ask, if anyone knew the kid who's in this cell before. I'm thinking he must be this geeky little thing that got mixed up in some shit but didn't mean it and liked Banksy or something. Wanted to be a right little artist, right? I'm thinking he could be like a little brother. Maybe he's out there and he can write to me and visit sometime cause my mom only gets mad when she comes in and she won't let my brother see me in here like this. It's not right she says - like I'm going to corrupt him through the bars or something. I'm not contagious. Plus she don't know what he's like anyway. A good little kid our Mikey - even gives me shit for smoking. Saying that, he'd better stay like that, keep out of my stash while I'm in here.

So I'm asking around and they tell me this guy, Pete, this guy Pete was in my cell before but no one's saying much right? So I'm thinking he must've been this quiet thing. Not talking or nothing. But still - come'on someone's gotta have some shit on the guy but no one's saying nothing. And everyday I'm seeing this sketch like, I'm thinking about my brother and so I get a little crazy about it and so I go to the big man, the one you don't go to but they find you? But I just don't care anymore so I go up there and say - Jesus man what's with the guy in my cell, the one before me. You lot can't bear Star trek geeks or something?

And I'm just itching for a fight. I don't know why, but those eyes just had bore in my head, those Klingon eyes and I had to know. And so he looks me up and down and gives me a smile and says, you remind me of him. And I'm thinking, is this a good or bad thing. And he tells me this Pete, this Pete is some pedo weirdo and I'm thinking fuck - fuck I thought he'd be like a fucking little brother when all he'd be thinking about is fucking my brother and it fucking makes me sick. And they're just standing there looking at me and I'm thinking they think I'm like this Pete guy and that's sick. I'm not fucking like that. And then, I don't even notice it but my fist rounds to the right and then a left and all I remember is someone dragging me and there's blood and I can't tell which is mine. So they plunk me back in the cell cause the big man's in solitairy. I guess they thought he could hurt me more but now all I'm wishing is to be in that tiny cell, cramped in quiet like cause these eyes. Those crazy klingon eyes. Staring at me. 2 more years they'll be staring at me now. Another 2 years cause of him.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Rapunzel

Square turrets
Open sky
Brick pieces
Jutting handholds
Shuttered windows
The grey of rain
Glimpses of hair
Shadowed visits
Mistaken voices
Whispered longing
Eternal waiting
Blindness
Forgiveness
Peace

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poem by Heather Taylor

Dream

It was easy to make. A quick flick of black, the spray smooth and even. The red an afterthought to bleed into what she'd already done. Chuck had given her the stencil so it was only a matter of finding a space. There were rules here she never thought about : the wall had to be the right colour so the image would stick out, the place had to be hidden enough so no one would see what you were doing but had to be visable enough so everyone could see it when it was made, and everything had to be done at night.

Emily was never one for staying out all night cause it worried her parents. But since she ran away, none of that seemed to matter anymore. They wouldn't understand that she had to find herself and she wasn't sure how to do it but after Chuck...it's been easier. He said once that we make our own dreams but too often those are taken away by the government, our parents, people who like to flex their power. So we have to take a stand. He said that as they layed in bed, smoking a cigarette between them. His fingers, nicotine stained, traced their way across her body and soothed his thoughts into her. Made her forget that she hated the taste of his roll-ups, made her forget how long it's been since she layed in clean sheets and dreamed her own dreams. How long it's been since she'd been home.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Anniversary

As this blog is partly about being a Canadian in London, I couldn't let the day go by without saying something about the bombings last year. I can't believe they happened in the first place let alone that a year went by when 52 people were killed by bombs on buses and in the tubes. At 10 to 9 this morning, wreaths were layed at Kings Cross, Edgware Road, Russell Square and Liverpool Street. And a memorial will be tonight. It's a sad day in London and across the UK.

METRO
(Published in X-Magazine, 2006)

More grainy faces buried in newspapers
by a war brought in backpacks
Kamikazee pilots on buses
Samari warriors in underground passages.

The numbers on foreign newsreels,
and news stories no one noticed,
became quickened breath, blood and twisted metal
Guns in carriages and civilian casualties
the day they brought terror home.

Jamming phone lines with frantic redials
Echoes of ringtones in police cordoned streets,
E-mails overflowing inboxes
And far away faces aging a year each minute
They wait for replies: some came.
Too many didn't.

Sparks

We write our names across the sky
Willing them to the universe
Wishing on stars and blown out candles
For the one we want, are dreaming of

Our eyes burn in the glow,
us holding brief life in our hands
Those magic sticks that sizzle spark start
and snap dazzle their way out of existance.

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Poem by Heather Taylor

Funny Smoke Packs

Remember when cigarettes first started putting huge warnings in a solid black box on every pack? I think I was 18 when they first started it up and I thought it was frickin hilarious. Or at least mildly witty. I thought...hmmm....who writes this stuff. How do I get my random words put on there. Not wanting to put forward the outlay, I never achieved my comedy smoke pack sticker dreams. That is, until now.

All I had to do is send my poetic musings to an artist and what did she use my stuff for? That's right, good ol' ciggerates. You wanna see it? Do ya, do ya?

Click here to see the stickery goodness.

Boo ya!

New Blog Alert, New Blog Alert

Ok...I'm excited. Again. I think I get in this state quite often. Yep. I'm a puppy...in a 28 year old's body. Don't worry, I'm housetrained (kinda).

So....my sister got a brand new camera. No, I can't tell you what kind. I assume it looks less like this:

And a little more like this:



So...my sister wants a little assignment for her new camera and as I love a little challenge, we are about to embark on a new blog The Taylor Sister Initiative. She and my sister Becky will provide the photography/ artwork and I will write little poems and stories to go along with it. Fun? Mais oui!

Let the games begin...

Happy Canada Day!!!

Oh boy oh boy oh boy. Happy Canada Day (one day late). I really couldn't talk about Canada Day until after the fact cause we had a freakin great party at my South London pad to celebrate the big day. Now we wanted to have the best Canada day party ever so we did a little planning, a little decorating and a whole lot of inviting. Here is my photo montage of the grand event:
PREPARATIONS
Just in case people forgot where the party was, Reisha and I thought we'd put up a tiny flag (care of Alice).	Not only is this a lovely fireplace, but it's a pure Canadian one (if you buy now, it comes with it's very own giant bottle of maple syrup as seen on the table)
The sign is of my own creation. You can never have too many Canadian flags on Canada day!	Here's me practising my "kiss-the-Canadian" face for later that evening. Unfortunately i didn't get to use it...
THE PARTY!
As we have downstairs neighbours, we didn't want anyone not to know where the most happening party was at.	As we are gracious hosts, we decided to invite our entire street! Some even showed up with their invites. Maybe we should've charged at the door.
This is one of our neighbours. We made sure to greet everyone to make sure they felt welcome even though I promptly forgot most of their names. I'm like that no matter how hard I try. It's a fact. That's why I call everyone dude.	Here is a group of Finish neighbours from down the road with two of my friends. One of them lived in Montreal for 8 years. It's a Canadian connection on our very own street. That's why they came.
This is Kurt (with me and Lindsay). He is Canadian just like the shirt he was forced to wear says.	In case you can't read it, Ange's shirt says: "I may not be perfect but I'm Canadian and that's close enough." Yep, we're a modest bunch
So the party went into the wee hours of the morning and much Canadian fun was had (7 Canadians were present and accounted for. Not bad for a party in London). 3 groups of neighbours came to our humble aboad. I think it shocked them that they were actually invited to a random house party (we had a couple of reconosence missions to make sure we were genuine...thankfully we passed that test!). These kind of things just aren't done in London. I'm glad they weren't crazy either. My Cambridge mates stayed over night for a little sleep-over party (PJs and everything) and so this morning it was all about the Sunrise cafe. For those of you in Canada who have never had a day-after-the-party fry up, you don't know what you're missing. Mostly it's meat (veggie sausages for me!), eggs (except...I don't eat eggs...), chips, mushrooms, tomatoes and beans. Mmmm. Beans. To end off my photo montage, here's me and Ange: Not to say we aren't beautiful, but those faces say - "Wow! What a party!" So how was your Canada day?