Day 3

Started the morning with two fully-functioning eyes, good! Operation guitar hire begun today, so I got myself ready—Celtic tracksuit top obviously in preparation for the game—and headed out to Ossington station to the guitar store, Long & McQuade, who claimed to rent out guitars to Joe Public. On the way there, said Celtic tracksuit top (pictured below) was recognised by one of the natives who exclaimed 'Celtic!' before adding 'kill them all!' Not a shout I hear very often at Celtic Park but I might see if it catches on when I get home.


There was a black guy on the train today, not only singing to himself, but having a bit of a jive too. Now don't get me wrong I've suffered the indignity of being caught by a former flatmate when I was singing Big Yellow Taxi by Joni Mitchell, a fellow primary school classmate when I was singing Girls, Girls, Girls by Elvis and even on one occasion in the Scottish rain I made like I was the Wicked Witch of the West in the scene where she melted (pictured below) but the point here was that I wasn't seeking the attention, this guy on the other hand was throwing shapes all over the train! Toronto's multiculturalism obviously covers transport nutters as well, great stuff!

Found the guitar store that my cousin Patti recommended to me, fairly easily and decided to go for an acoustic instead of an electric guitar. Well actually it was an electro-acoustic like the one I have at home. I set about paying for it but seeing as how I'm not a resident of Canada, I had to put down a deposit on the guitar itself as well as the rental charge, which required a credit card. Mine surprisingly kept being declined, which it shouldn't have because it was far from maxed out. The store assistant's stereotypical Canadian politeness shone through as she let me use their phone to contact my credit card company to activate the card for use abroad. It had been blocked because I presume that they thought I was being defrauded. They phoned home too because my Ma phoned me, unaware that it sucks my mobile credit dry here! Anyway, to cut a long story short, the card was activated, guitar was rented and I was on my way. I just had to e-mail the promoter at Sneaky Dee's now to confirm the date of the gig I'd previously arranged.

On the way home, I couldn't help nipping into the food court and grabbing a bite to eat at Hero Burger (pictured below) because a) I was hungry and b) I'm a hero! Chucked in some onion rings and a Canada Dry too. Ace! Little did I know though that Fe had made toast and eggs with the potato scones—I had stashed in my case—thrown in for good measure. So in effect I had two lunches—fully prepared to come home a fat bastard!


With an array of cases that could make Paris Hilton look a little under-prepared, the three of us set off for my Uncle Brian's and his wife Heather's place in Oshawa, a town about 40 mins outside Toronto that boasts some houses that wouldn't look out of place in the film 8 Mile. That said my Uncle Brian's house is really nice and despite the fact that by now my eyes had started to annoy me to the point that I wanted to scratch them out of my head, I managed to sink a few Magners on arrival, shoot the shit and spend some time relaxing in their hot tub, bliss! My Uncle Brian had lent me a pair of his swimming shorts, which I got changed into while their golden retriever Charlie looked on. I can honestly say that this is the only dog I've ever stripped in front of! Rounded the evening off with some whiskey, which sat delicately on top of the panzerotto I had earlier. For those who don't know what that is, it's basically a calzone by any other name. I couldn't think of anything else today bar the Celtic vs Rangers match the following day, so I tried to get some shuteye, hopefully minus last night's eye boogers!