Day 1

I left my mother with a text message that read: "I love you, always have, always will," which is true and the best way to bring to close the three day war of words we'd been having prior to that. I left my Dad with a joke about how Alex Ferguson might want Georgios Samaras to fill the void (no pun intended) by Wayne Rooney should he decide to leave. I left my sister struggling to cope with the difficult task of adult study and harder still being a Mum at the same time to my two nieces. I left one angry drummer irked at having to pay for a missed rehearsal. I left one girl in Glasgow with a smile on her face and one Mexican girl, whom I hadn't even seen on her recent trip to Scotland, nursing a broken heart. To be honest, I was just glad I'd left, I needed this holiday!

That's the thing though isn't it? The first day of your holiday is anything but that. I was currently sweating like James Corden being told he has to go on a diet of nought but rice cakes, worrying about whether or not my gargantuan, female-sized case was going to be over the limit. I was in the queue with a number of octogenarians all of whom seem to be having to dip into their decreasing pensions to cover their excess baggage. Imagine my relief when despite being one kilogram foul of the law, I was waved through.

Glasgow Airport is much colder than it used to be. All the shops and places that you used to be able to go and browse around and look at the ridiculously high mark-ups on everything have been blocked off to us ordinary Joes. It probably doesn't bother most people but as a kid my parents used to take me to Prestwick Airport and I loved it, in particular watching the planes come and go, but also just wandering around the place. It held many happy memories for me because it reminded me of times that I flew to Canada from there or else I'd be there waiting to greet my Gran and Papa and/or Aunts and Uncles coming to visit us in Scotland.

So here I was in Glasgow, going to Canada for the umpteenth time and I have to say it never gets boring, What was boring though was the wait once I'd cleared the awkward circus that now constitutes the check-in. I picked up some free newspapers and a travel-sized FHM to kill some time. It didn't work all that well as I'll admit I'll a technophile so Blackberry Messenger and Facebook won out. Damn you Mark Zuckerberg!

As soon as I sat myself down in the plane though I endeavoured to be more productive—and ok it was partly due to the fact I could no longer use Blackberry Messenger—and so it proved as I finished another set of lyrics I'd been working on. Three songs (Dead Man's Crown, She's A Hurricane and Thank You For Loving Me) in one week! In your face writer's block!

I was actually impressed by Thomas Cook's legroom and overall service. During the flight I managed to scoff: Chicken with potatoes, carrots and peas, a bread roll, some fruit, cheese and crackers and a small cheesecake. Later on I added to that a cheese and pickel sandwich, my first ever egg sandwich and a scone with clotted cream and jam. Not to mention the Doritos and two bottles of Irn Bru I'd brought with me. Both my Dad and my good mate Martin would have appreciated such a long list of food intake. My Dad because he's a bit of a stickler for details like this and Martin because he genuinely enjoys eating.....lots! My Dad wouldn't have appreciated Chicken though—not a fan—and Martin would have bemoaned the lack of tea—he's an addict—because there was a water fault on the plane, which was brought home to me when the tap in the toilet—which I always have to check out, a remnant of childhood OCD—literally spat the remains of water onto my hands. Thank God for wet wipes!

There were three films on too. Shrek Ever After was first up and believe it or not, my first Shrek film. I can see its appeal, especially with Mike Myers reprising his Fat Bastardesque Scottish accent. After that there was Alice in Wonderland, which despite featuring the always weird and wonderful Johnny Depp was a pile of CGI-driven shite. Lastly there was Date Night, a watchable comedy with Saturday Night Live stalwarts Tina Fey and Steve Carrell. When I say 'watchable,' I mean it was right there in front of me, I'd read everything I had with me and tapping out Reni's drum fill for Fools Gold with my pen and tray table could only amuse me for so long. As we landed quite forcefully on Canadian soil it turns out that the guy sitting next to me—whom I had previous nicknamed 'elbows' due to his armrest space theft—was from Oshawa where my Uncle Brian stays, small world right enough.

My Uncle Eddie picked me up at Toronto Airport and we immediately started shooting the shit about Celtic FC. I like how he is able to switch between his Canadian accent and his broad Scots accent, never fails to amuse me. His new gaff, in which he lives with his wife Fe is nice and welcoming and I was glad of unloading my case, it was immensely satisfying. Though less so for my Uncle Eddie whose Lees Snowballs had been turned into mush by some unforgiving baggage handlers. We sauntered around the local area, which wasn't too unfamiliar as it was close to the subway station, Royal York, that was near to my Gran and Papa's house in Etobicoke. I tried to get a SIM card along the way but the young sales assistant wasn't grasping the concept of 'pay-as-you-go' and was trying to sign me up for a year's contract, which I thought was just a bit much for a three-week stay! we grabbed a bite to eat at a little Italian place called Ottimo. I had gnocchi in gorgonzola sauce which was tip-top. Added a Guinness to that shortly afterwards at a nearby bar called Pepper's, which was relatively quiet, bar a few people watching the Toronto Maple Leafs ice hockey game and a friendly and attentive barmaid. I knew her game, she was after a tip and after debating on whether to use the old 'never eat yellow snow,' gag I decided just to give her the financial reward minus the poor attempt at comedy. Survived until about 11.30pm Canadian time and once I'd maneuvered the futon into place, it was time to catch some zeds!