We were very busy when we lived in Littlehampton. I'd forgotten the half of what we got up to, especially in our first year there, but looking back through our memory box of delights (a big blue boxfile in which we keep tickets, programmes, and suchlike) it appears we went to see shows, attend weekend and evening classes, and generally Look Like Eager Cultural Citizens. This lasted a good couple of years before we started singing, and our plan is to have at least a few months of similarly lazy cultural consumption in Vancouver before making any definite plans about participating in something, like joining a choir. Or starting a theatre group, which was one of my edgier moves in Littlehampton.
Artwatching in Vancouver is very simple. There are free magazines on every street corner. Metal boxes protect them from the elements, and most of them are free. As an indication of how civilised Vancouver is compared to, say, London, the free boxes are not emptied, their contents are not set on fire, and dogshit is not stuffed into them. And this freedom from vandalism seems to be a permanent state. You may ask why anyone would do something so pointless to an innocent metal box offering a free public service. The answer, in London, would be: because it's there and I find it funny / I find my life boring. In Vancouver, although I honestly can't say they've got the right approach to some social ills such as homelessness, they do at least seem to have persuaded everyone that you don't crap in the free newspapers box. ("... and live." Perhaps there's some kind of instant electrocution policy administered by low-flying black helicopters which has already taught the natives of the inviolability of the metal box.)
Anyway, yes, free newspapers and leaflets. Plenty of them. The library yielded quite a selection of pamphlets, and we've already marked our card with half a dozen fascinating-sounding discussions to be held down there over the next month. But next on the list is the Shadbolt Arts Centre. (Yep - Canadians spell the word 'centre'. And they say 'zed' rather than 'zee'.) The Shadbolt is on the north side of a giant park some way to the east of downtown Vancouver. The nearest SkyTrain stop is Metrotown, home of Metropolis, a sizeable mall. The 144 bus treks for 20 minutes through hillside suburbia - including, for Alexis's benefit, a road called Gilley Avenue. Inside, I perform my usual trick of hypnotising young women with my good looks while asking them beginners' questions about what we're paying to see. They're stunned that we've been here, like, three days and are already looking for something to watch, but that's the point - how long does it take, sitting in a room with nothing to do, before you decide the outside would be better for you? We're both fans of modern dance - narrative dance, specifically. Please don't try to tell me that ballet's any good at telling a story. I want dance works which come with their own inbuilt dictionary. We caught a brilliant piece at the Vancouver Festival Fringe which was running by happy coincidence when we were here in September, and I'm hoping these four pieces we're booking for - one a month till May - will also be interesting. A more thorough report on the Shadbolt will follow when we've actually been there for a show - next Saturday, I believe.
Waiting in the rain for the bus back, we start singing Java Jive. I miss my Posse.
Metropolis Mall is hosting Canadian Idol auditions. Why everyone is gathered around the edges of the multilevel mezzanine staring at what is essentially a high-tech queue is beyond me. Singer-songwriters, that dreaded subgenre of subhumans, are cruising the mall with guitars slung over their shoulders. This machine kills fascists, sure, but almost certainly only by boring them to death. Imagine being in hell. Now imagine being surrounded by two hundred copies of Phoebe from Friends. Now have another stab at hell. You've had some fresh ideas about it haven't you? I'm with a modified version of Goering: when I hear the word 'acoustic' I reach for my revolver.
The Disney store in Metropolis doesn't have Pooh Fleeces. Pooh Fleece was a valuable item in my wardrobe, warm and snuggly and eight years old and still counting. Unfortunately, when we got our two rabbits in late 2005, it became the item of clothing I wore while I handled them, with the result that it acquired enough ingrained fur to build a third rabbit from scratch, and enough holes to sink a battleship. "Big Red Bunny", as it was known, became the rabbits' touchstone for safety and comfort - and also acted as a giant floating flag signifying that it was time for them to stop scampering indoors and go back into the outside hutch. Rufus typically just lurked in the hope that if he didn't meet my eye he must be invisible. Rolo took the presence of Big Red Bunny as the starting pistol for a romp around the room which left us all exhausted. He loved it though - purring and clicking away within seconds of being snatched up. All this is why when we left Littlehampton, Pooh Fleece was consigned to the garbage - looking more like a ladies' lacy top than a solid macho fleece. I was hoping to get a replacement. Not today.
Metropolis's food court is much more like it. Sarah scoffed the same turkey dinner which she learned to love in September, and I can see her point. There's a Nando's there too, and a few other options, although some of the food choices are unusual and unlikely to get our custom - New York Fries literally serves fries, in a range of sauces.
Shopping in Metropolis: well, Sarah's father will like it. Designer outlets everywhere. Sarah picked up a bargain top in Addition-Elle (a sort of lightweight generic women's clothing store). Old Navy looks like a similarly generic shop. Turning a corner, we found a whole load of tops in browns and pastel blues which reminded me of Mike's favourite ranges in Burtons back in England. But these were for chicks. "Skurtons", you might say. Harmless enough if you happen to believe in fashion. (I have a rant about Canadian looks and fashion which I'm saving for a rainier day.)
And what the hell is this? I collect pictures of bizarre mannequins, but...
... Mr Cactus Head is one of the best yet!
No Superman, though. I felt let down. Perhaps if Lois Lane had fallen over the safety rail in the mezzanine while trying to cop a good view of the Idol line, he would have made an appearance.
The easy route home would have been to get the SkyTrain back from Metrotown. But why bother, when it travels on a big loop and our tickets will take the strain? So we sat observing the scenery (through a small amount of rain) for the next half-hour. Station names in Vancouver are history-free zones. I grant you that "22nd Street" is informative, if a little dull, but "Renfrew" and "Rupert"? Meh. The northern half of the loop features particularly uninteresting scenery. They really ought to consider redecorating.
At the interchange (the loop is not a real loop, just a long line which happens to cross over itself) there is a fast food joint called "Chubby Chicken and Teen Burger". A cartoon called Fast Food Superheroes surely beckons.
And so to Futureshop so Panda can buy a laptop. The laptop I'm using right now, in fact. I had considered buying a laptop on Thursday but opted to wait so I could do some research. Sarah observed as we entered the shop that I had clearly changed my mind. The thing is, bunnies are researching animals, whereas pandas work on instinct - which might look like they rush into things unprepared and simply because they're there, but, in fact... yeah, OK. I kinda walked into the shop, pointed and said "That one!" and walked out with it ten minutes later. The unavoidable attempt to sell us extra insurance wasn't too insulting - $300 for three years' total coverage isn't actually too bad - but we tend not to break stuff, and if stuff breaks itself, we avoid that brand forevermore. This is why, for example, you should always buy Sony laptops if you have the money. On the other hand, the Acer we recommended for Alexis seems to be working just dandy, so I picked essentially the same make. Including sales tax it was about £500, which ain't bad. If it breaks, eh, I'll buy a Sony.
On the other hand, while Acer could conceivably be blamed for the underlying decision, I primarily hold Microsoft responsible for the stress I've had since getting this thing home and unpacking it. Because my new laptop comes preinstalled with Windows Vista. And Windows Vista is doing a damn fine job of persuading me that it's a big waste of space and time... a veritable continuum of pointlessness. I'll tell you more about this later when I'm calmer. The only problem other than Vista's panoply of annoyances is that the keyboard is a bit stiff. I'm adapting. Commiserations to the usual address, please.
Walking home with the laptop, I got a strong pang about the rabbits. It sounds daft, and also unfair to everyone we knew, because we'd only had the bunnies for a year or so, and all our friendships have been going longer. But... bunnies. I hope they're scampering around Dave's garden, their minds filled with complete joy, their memories of us overwritten. I wish it was as simple for us.
We couldn't be bothered to eat properly this evening so Sarah had - I can't remember what she had, probably a bagel and then junk food, while I nipped over the road and started my campaign to persuade local Subway staff to realise that yes, sometimes people do just want meatballs with no cheese and no anything else. We really must do a proper grocery shop soon.
And so to bed.
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