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Argey-bargey
I’m back. I am. I’m dealing with a bit of culture shock. Believe it or not, the traffic is the first thing that launched us back into the reality of being back in Canada. The roadways in Ontario are so much more civilized than in London. We arrived during rush hour and navigated from the Park ’n’ Fly to the 401 and onward to the County without incident. And, yes, I wrote “civilized”. The roads in England are narrow and have more twists and turns than a corkscrew, with lots of blind corners. And, the thing is, it is rare to see a stop sign in England. Drivers are not obligated to stop at corners even if a pedestrian is attempting to cross. Basically, pedestrians do not have any rights unless they happen to be on the sidewalks or in one of the designated Belisha beacon crossings. Even in a BB, you really, really have to make sure you’ve been noticed by drivers, including bus drivers. I know, this may not seem like a cultural thing, but it certainly is. It’s something you live with and, aside from keeping pedestrians alert, it keeps the traffic flowing.
But back to culture and the shock of being back from somewhere that isn’t in North America. I suppose I’d have to say it’s not really a culture shock to be back. It’s more a re-entry shock. Yes, that’s the ticket. I’m in re-entry shock. The streets of the County are much quieter than those in London. I know, in about four weeks I’ll be screaming about the chaos that is tourist season, but believe me, it is quieter here. On one of the sunnier Sundays in London, the streets in Islington/Angel were choked with people heading, on foot, to Highbury Fields Park for a picnic. Londoners love their green spaces and drop everything to picnic the moment the sun comes. Apparently, a cloudless day doesn’t happen very often. So, on our second Sunday in London, we joined thousands of people eating, drinking and laughing on 29 acres of green space. If you think Sandbanks gets crowded in the summer, you have to see what a sunny afternoon in London looks like. I have never seen so many people crowded together to “get their picnic on”. Just walking the five blocks from the flat to the park was a struggle. If you happen to be a people watcher—and I am—it was worth the squeeze. Yet, strangely, it seems weird to be able to navigate the sidewalks in Picton without all of the argey-bargey.
As soon as any Londoner realized LOML and I were from Canada, they told us how much they loved Justin Trudeau. Of course, they all practiced their best version of a Canadian accent. What? We have an accent? Who knew? Even the butcher and the meat cutter had a great big heart for Mr. Justin. I might even go out on a limb and say they had a bit of a crush on that man. I’ll miss the butcher shop. I couldn’t slice through their Yorkshire accent, most of the time. Apparently, when a butcher looks you in the eye, wipes his bloody hands on his apron and says “You don’t have enough fat to fry an egg”, it’s a nice thing. I’ll miss Raab’s Bakery on Essex Road. A proper English baker, he was. “Don’t handle my buns, Miss. I won’t fondle yours.”
I’ll miss my daily flat white. And, I’ll miss the porky whites. I’ll miss the flower market and how a bouquet of roses is “cheaper than a plugin”. I’ll miss the Chapel Market, where strawberries are “as cheap as spring”. I’ll miss the fried haloumi and the chips. I’ll miss a pint of Camden Hells and the creaky floorboards in the New Rose and The Compton Arms. I’m still not sure about warm beer, but the crisps made it all good. I’ll miss the double decker buses and how busy the underground was at half three. Most of all, I’ll miss my London family.
It’s good to be back in a country that doesn’t have pay toilets. Did I mention the pay toilets?
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