One Day Off

I really enjoy meeting strangers in the street (except of course when they steal my laptop).

The other day I spoke to a couple of people. The first was an elderly man who sat beside me on the bus and proceeded to make conversation. The only problem was, though he was speaking English, I really only understood every fifth word or so. Looking back on the conversation I'm not exactly sure what it was all about. I'd throw him a "mmm hmm" and a gentle laugh in response. At one point he told me how something got its name, but I'd be hard pressed to figure out what the name was, let alone how it got that name. His accent was of a thick regional dialect. He smiled the whole time and left beaming. I hope he wasn't making fun of me.

The second stranger was a man from South Africa. He tapped my shoulder coming out of the library and indicated he needed some help copying a paper. I brought him back into the library and copied the pages for him. Identification papers I believe. I'll give whatever help I can to foreigners because I can sympathise with how challenging it can be for a person whose not an English speaker.

I had planned (or rather not planned anything) on just relaxing for my day off, but in the middle of the afternoon, Tom, one of my supervisors, called me up to know if I wanted to go for wings with him and his housemate. I was flattered and decided to take him up on it. Tom also happens to be my neighbour. His house is managed by the same landlord.

It turns out we were headed to the only Hooters in Britain, which just so happens to be in Nottingham. I was intrigued by the novelty of it. I had previously only been to the Winnipeg location. The wings were quite good. All-you-can-eat for seven quid. We also ordered some massive ciders to wash it down. I ate more than my fill and we headed off across Trent Bridge (by cab) to a pub. We were the only ones there along with some of their mates. We played some pool, and some "Deal Or No Deal?" (the British version of the show is much better than the American one by the way). I talked to a Canadian for while. He's been here sixteen years, and started out here the same way I did. He originally came from Ottawa.

After the barmaid rang the bell, we finished up our beers and headed over to the Southbank, another pub near the Nottingham Forest (Football Club) grounds. Pictures of Brian Clough adorned the walls, and Adam, Tom's housemate (not to be confused with Adam from Derby), told me all about his love for Forest, (which I know disgusts Adam of Derby, a Derby County F.C. fan, especially that a Forest fan shares his name). He also works at a local bar/restaurant and meets with Forest entourage all of the time.

At the next place we went, we met up with Gary Fleming and his wife, currently the physio guy for Forest, formerly a player for Manchester City in the 70s and 80s. Of course I didn't really know who he was, but I was told that he's a big name around here. Adam seems to know him and his wife quite well.

Another cab ride took us to a club called Tantra, where the entertainment was provided by a college age guy singing and playing guitar to various current and 90s British classics. It's amazing how little it takes to get a roomful of Brits to sing along to Oasis songs, especially when they've had a few pints. I'd be lying if I said I didn't join in. Tom and Adam were impressed that I knew all of the words. Tom gave the singer a number for one of our managers to try and set him up to play at the restaurant. We headed home after that. Time flies. I didn't get to bed until 3:00 am. That's the great thing about not starting work until 10:00 am though.

So now I'm buckling up for the next three weeks, which promise to be tiring yet rewarding. Christmas parties will abound and my new position at the larder filling live orders will be unlike anything I've experienced. Perhaps some holidaymaking in January will offset the working in December.

Cheers.