2007: Year In Review

Today is Hogmanay ("New Year's Eve" for the folks across the pond), and in some respects, it's even bigger than Christmas in Scotland. Tonight, the streets will be flooded with semi-conscious and inebriated Scottish people yelping and whooping in a language that somewhat resembles English. And I will be amongst them. This will be my first-ever Hogmanay in Scotland, and I can only guess that it's going to resemble something out of I am Legend and be absolute pandemonium.

Prior to joining the masses of pale-skin boozin' zombies however, I thought I would take a quick wee look back over the year that was 2007. Being one for making sweeping statements and grandious announcements, I also want to proclaim that 2007 has honestly been one of the best years of my life.

- 2006 ended with a big blowout fight with my family in Canada. Yaaaaah! And started with a whimper in Toronto.

- In January: I went to one of the best parties EVER: Mike and Erica's engagement party (they married in October); sabotaged yet another date; the ceiling of my rented flat in North Kelvinside collapsed while I was out at the movies; hypothesized that Scottish people don't date; was immortalised in a Scottish newspaper.

- In February: I almost stepped on a needle; revealed the truth for why I wanted to move back to Glasgow; got INTO LAW SCHOOL- HOLY SHIT!!! (I declined); on February 15, I met Paul, (now my boyfriend), for the first time and then proceeded to go on one of the best dates ever with him (basically, YouTube is responsible for getting us together).

- In March: I went to Dundee with my friend, Kate, to visit our friend, Lauren, totally hung over; grew a bit sympathetic for Americans; weighed whether or not I should go to law school; felt homesick and missed my coco baby Bombo a lot; celebrated my one year anniversary in Glasgow!

- In April: MY BROTHER and his partner came to town (come back soon, you guys!); proclaimed my love for this crazy city (again); moved outta North Kelvinside.

- In May: I voted in the Scottish elections for the first time!; fed tablet to a squirrel and discovered Paul is a messy eater; received the best GIFT EVER - Bombo bought a ticket to Glasgow!

I also turned 28.

- In June: I retorted to Martin Newland's article, that appeared in Macleans, announcing England (does that include Scotland??!) was rotting; got lost in the highlands with Bombo (notice he has rolled up his sleeves to work on his tan):- heard some ladies snort coke in a restaurants washroom and was immediately grossed out - I really hate coke and the people who insist on doing it public places.

- In July: the "terrorists" attack Glasgow - Jeeps ablaze at the airport and Fopp closes shop; saw my first Orange walk in person; got a job at an organisation that I dreamed and hoped that I would one day work for; it rained EVERY. SINGLE. DAY in the summer - ever since Bombo went back to Canada; hypothesised (again!) that the Nanny government of the UK treats its citizens as babies and we acted accordingly.

- In August: I cooked my first "Sunday roast" for paul and went on holiday to Canada!

- In September: For Paul's birthday, I bought us tickets to go to Banff, Alberta!

Went to London, for work, and got sick of people telling me how! great! London! is!

- In October: I went to Erica's hen weekend with a brutal cold and uhh, the barn burnt down!? Watched the Scotland v Ukraine game and saw that dude from Mogwai; I moved yet again - outta the slumville where I had been living! Mike and Erica GOT MARRIED!

- In November: Glasgow won the Commonwealth 2014 games! Scotland played France for a place in the Euro 2008 games - and lost; I went to my first football game! Coco baby turned...older.

- In December: some douchebag sales assistant mocked my accent - and I caught him! I was awoken by an Orange parade right outside my flat.

Funny side note that I didn't write: after being awoken by the march, I went into the living room, opened the window and started screaming, "BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Paul, naked, ran into the living room and exclaimed, "What the hell are you doing?! Do you want to get us killed!? Don't be so daft!!!"

Whatever. Orange marches are soooo 1980s, people.

Also, they're antagonising, vulgar, and boring. Marching through a religiously divided city under the banner of "celebrating heritage", is like me marching on a native reserve in Canada, commemorating the slaughter / victory of white people over Native Canadians. Move on, people. Also, get some decency.

And with that...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I (barely) survived my first Glaswegian Christmas. Despite the lack of snow and wealth of rain, it was lovely. Paul and I opened our gifts on Christmas morning before heading out to Paul's Dads for Christmas dinner - where I think I picked up yet another cold from one of Paul's wee brothers/sister.

At Paul's Dads, I also discovered Amarula. Now normally I'm not one for liquors or really, drinking anything other than wine or cocktails but oh my god, this stuff is dew from the South African Gods. I'm not sure if it's available in Canada - I don't think I've ever seen it - but if you like drinking booze that tastes like fruity caramel, then I highly recommend it.

After downing about two Amarula's on the rocks, we opened some gifts from Paul's Dad and Step-Mom and both Paul and I were stunned into silence when Paul opened his:

An iPHONE!

I'm not sure how or when Paul's Dad managed to score it but damn, it is sweet. It also means that Paul has now passed on his Sony Ericsson mobile to me.

As this is my first Christmas in Glasgow, this will also be my first Hogmanay (New Years Eve) and I've been told that Scots celebrate Hogmanay big time. However, like every year, I still have no plans yet. Some traditions you just can't break.

Merry Christmas from Glasgow....

Photo taken from here

..And All Your Local Neds!

View 1AlanM's map

Taken in Glasgow City, Scotland (See more photos here)

55°51' 46" N, 4..55.862814-4.236251

View 1AlanM's map

Taken in Glasgow City, Scotland (See more photos here)

55°51' 46" N, 55.862814-4.236251

Just when you think you have assimilated...

...what the fuck is "Bread Sauce"?!

CHRISTMAS VIDEO MESSAGE FOR MY MOM

MERRY CHRISTMAS! Miss you!

My Scottish boyfriend likes to mock my love and adoration of Tesco; he just doesn't understand how I could be so excited by a big grocery store. I've written about my obsession with Tesco before and I have to admit that my obsession has been further fuelled by two events: 1. Paul's recent acquisition of a 14-year old BMW and 2. the recent opening of the HUGE open 24 hours Tesco at Silverburn.

And it was yesterday that I felt vindicated with Julie Burchill's article in the Guardian entitled, "Why I love Tesco (and why people who don't should get a life)". Just a snippet of her hilarious article:

"People who are against Tesco are the sort of people who 50 years ago would have been against labour-saving devices on the grounds that they might conceivably give women time to put their feet up, have a cup of tea and watch daytime telly for half an hour."

Read more

A very Scottish Christmas: the ned nativity scene. Hilarious!

I know I already wrote about this last year but again, my Canadian cultural sensitivities are pleasantly surprised: Scottish folk LOVE the Christian festival that is Christmas!

As I mentioned last year, the Scottish do not shy away from wishing one another a "merry Christmas", exchanging Christmas cards, or just taking two weeks holiday over the err...holidays! In fact, right now, a choir are singing Christmas carols in my workplace to a HUGE audience!? Or perhaps the crowd is being drawn by the mulled wine and mince pies.

Nevertheless, I relay the story from a couple years ago, wherein Boston wanted to rename it's Christmas tree to a "Holiday" tree, to my Scottish friends - who mainly just look puzzled. The tree is merely a means to an end, they argue. That is, the end result being drinking and eating too much, time off work, and late night curry take-aways.

So, overall, being an atheist (more or less; it fluctuates depending on how much I am fearing death on a certain day), I don't mind Christmas at all. In fact, I would hasten to say that I love Christmas for the grotesque consumerist holiday that it's become!

WEEKEND IN PICTURES

This past weekend, Paul and I finally bought a Christmas tree - a Nordman Fir. When we finally managed to track some down, my initial response was, "...they're so small?!" I guess I've become accustomed to huge trees a la National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation: trees so huge, they barely fit into your living room. When I was a kid, I remember going out to Christmas tree "farms" and cutting down ginormous beasts of a tree.

Anyway, I finally managed to take photos of the flat I moved into in October.

Here's the bedroom.

Kitchen.

Washroom.

This is the wee "extra" room off the kitchen. The futon pulls out into a comfortable bed, or so I have been told. Currently, the room is being used as Paul's "dressing room". See Paul gets up before I do and because he is such a sweet boyfriend (or rather, because I am a beast when woken from a deep slumber), Paul gets dressed and ready so as not to awake me from my dreams of unicorns, rainbows, marshmallows, and sunshine (thanks, Bob)!

Living room - with electric fireplace!

The Christmas tree, which I finally got around to decorating this evening! Also, Paul's feet/slippers in the foreground. MOTHER - note that I have not opened your gifts (see large green package to the right).

Christmas tree and Paul.
Our Charlie Brown Christmas tree!

Yep, I live in a country wherein a 7.00pm closing time is considered late night shopping.

Paul took this photo as we walked across the mighty Clyde. Yeah, sure, "late night" shopping may be near to non-existent, but this city slays me; it's so beautiful, gritty, and just plain mental.

Luminato, the 10 day arts festival held in Toronto in June, will feature the National Theatre of Scotland's critically-acclaimed play, Black Watch, in the 2008 programme. The play focuses on the soldiers in the Scottish regiment - Black Watch - revealing what it means to be part of the legendary regiment, the war on terror and the journey home again. The actual play itself is based on interviews conducted by the playwright, Gregory Burke, with former Black Watch soldiers who served in Iraq.

If you are anywhere near Toronto in the first week of June, you absolutely MUST see this play. Do not attend this play, however, if you're easily offended by the word, "cunt" though. Just sayin'.

Watch the trailer here.

This will be the first year that I have ever missed a Christmas with my family in Canada. It was a tough decision but having been home recently in August/September, and flight prices starting at £600, I thought that financially, it made more sense to stay in Glasgow.

Of course, I won't be entirely alone: Paul and I will spend Christmas Eve at my flat and then do the traditional "Divorced Parents Christmas Circuit" the following morning; some traditions transcend borders, I guess.

Nevertheless, as this will be my first Christmas in Scotland, we decided to have a pre-Christmas cocktail party with friends and family. So, there I was: thinking about what to serve at the party when horror of horrors, I learn that EGGNOG DOES NOT EXIST OVER HERE?! First CANNED PUMPKIN, ALFREDO SAUCE, TIM HORTONS and now this?! Where will it end?!

What is Britain? The Return of the Native

Another great article in today's Guardian about an ex-pat Londoner returning to his homeland after 20 years abroad. The writer, Jon Henley, frustrated by the third re-election of Maggie Thatcher and the dirty and depressing state of London, he left the country. Returning "home", he finds the country (or more accurately, the city of London) to be a whole new world. Some highlights from the article:

When I left London for Amsterdam, your best chance of getting a decent cup of coffee was, frankly, to move to Amsterdam. Or Paris, or Milan, or even (I imagine) Irkutsk. Tea we were good at...Now whether Starbucks, Caffè Nero, Costa Coffee etc actually count as cafes in the historically accepted sense of the term is, of course, debatable, but it is at least true that it is now possible to consume, on a great many high streets in Britain, and every few yards in parts of central London, something that might reasonably be called coffee. Except, obviously, it won't be called coffee. It'll be called espresso or ristretto or latte or mocha or cappuccino or americano or macchiato or some unholy combination of the above, such as double mocha macchiato with whipped cream and crushed Bolivian brazil nuts from the farm of our friend Raul Ramirez. Each of these is available in a range of coffee varieties such as Colombia Narino Supremo and Guatemala Antigua. So while we seem at long last to have embraced (a travesty of) cafe society, we now need a menu to order our coffee. Is this progress? Reader, I do not know. (My thoughts - so true!)

...My friend Caroline, who left Britain in 1993, came back last summer after spells in Berlin, Moscow and Paris and furnished several fine ideas for this article, would like to point out that there is one bad thing about the buses (and in fact it also applies to the tube) and it's the fact that these days, people eat burgers in them. Also kebabs, and yes, even classic pan-baked pizzas with BBQ sauce, bacon, chicken, cherry tomatoes, red onions and an extra drizzle of rich authentic-tasting sauce from the farm of our, etc. Just when did it become socially acceptable, I often wonder, to eat your main meal of the day on the top of the number 43? (My thoughts - This is true and also, some folks find it perfectly acceptable to blast Euro trash house/dance music from their mobiles so that everyone else on the bus must suffer and revel in their subhuman behaviour).

...When did it become an overriding social imperative for the under-25s to throw up and pass out on the pavement on Friday nights? (My thoughts - again, and sadly I must admit, this seems to be true. Which isn't to deny that yes, I once drank red wine to the extent where I fell down in the middle of St. Vincent Street and proclaimed my love for every passing Scottish person).

...On the whole, though, I love being back. Really I do. One last question: what's with all the Porsches?

Well, that's the big change, really. The one really stand-out, in your face, can't-fail-to-notice-it difference; the one you tell your foreign friends about first. London now - you can smell it - is about money. About making it and talking about it and spending it (on Sundays, too! On £2,000 handbags!) and showing everyone how much of it you've got. And if we don't have enough of it, we borrow, remortgage or put it on plastic. We're way deeper in debt than any other nation in Europe. We work longer hours than anyone else on the continent. Take fewer holidays. Are never off the BlackBerry. And shop, to the death. We are sacrificing our lives, and the quality of our lives, on the altars of work and commerce. It's not like that where I've spent the last 20 years. It wasn't like that here in 1987. And that's a shame.

Right. So Jon may have a point but you know, it's still a WHOLE LOT better than Canada or America. In Scotland, I am entitled to 5+ weeks holiday whereas in Canada, I was allowed a measly 2 weeks and what's even sadder? You come to accept that 2 weeks is sufficient. Call me lazy, but I'm beginning to think that 5 weeks off for holidays is a lot more productive than slaving away all year long - all the while looking forward to those mere two weeks. I guess that's just the European in me.

I FUCKING HATE ORANGE MARCHES!

I know this is a controversial thing to proclaim but right now, I don't give a shit because they are marching outside my flat and awoke me from a deep slumber!

I'm beginning to think that culture shock is a lot more subtle in a country that isn't necessarily your homeland, but they speak the same language, than in completely foreign country with a different native tongue. If that makes any sense. In addition, you might also have the advantage of appearing physically different than your adopted home. For example, if I - an anglo-saxon, blue-eyed, blonde - were living in say, Japan, people could just take one glance at me and assume I was not from there.

In Scotland, however, being a Canadian with Euro mutt heritage (Scottish, Irish, Welsh), I look like everyone else over here. Culturally, however, I sometimes feel like I am still an outsider.

I know that the "Canadian returning to their heritage homeland" angle might be getting a little tiresome but the more I feel like Scotland is my home, the more I am reminded that I am still a "foreigner".

Take for example, day-to-day interactions with strangers: a couple weeks ago, Paul and I were shopping in a hip clothing store that seemed to only carry men's stuff. Wanting a new pair of shoes for myself, I approached the sales guy:

"ummm, do you have any girl stuff?"

The sales guy blinked a couple times and said, "Just Uggs. Sorry."

Now, perhaps my face betrayed my manners and I grimaced at the word, "UGG", but I thanked him and walked away. And just when he thought I was out of earshot, I heard two sales guy mock my accent and say, "LIKE OH MY GOD". I didn't say anything - mainly because I was too shocked - and Paul and I left the store (AFTER Paul bought a pair of fancy shoes too)!

I told Paul what had happened and he said he was sorry and bless his wee Weegie soul, he offered to go back and say something. I declined but damn, it just cut me up. I suppose more than anything, I suddenly felt like a foreigner and self-conscious about my accent. I'm sure they assumed that I was American (WHICH HURTS ANY CANADIAN TO THEIR SOUL!!!) and so, it was ok to mock my accent.

I also feel like a cultural outsider at times because my small-talk is total pish. See, Glaswegians really value what they call "chat" (i.e. witty small talk) and talk about people "having" good chat or "giving good chat". Now, some people might find this hard to believe but I can actually be quite shy - especially when meeting new family and friends of Paul's, for example. Add to that my anxiety about my perceived cultural "otherness" and Toronto-accent. So, I'm pretty hopeless next to some chatty Glaswegian lettin' rip with witty one-liners.

In the end, maybe that's why Madonna adopted a shitty English accent when she moved to the UK? Maybe she was just trying to avoid possible cultural embarrassments - rather than say, attention and validation because she is an annoying douchebag?

There has been a lot of coverage in the news recently about the SNP's plan (hope?) for Scotland to become independent. The First Minister, Alex Salmond, has said that by 2017, Scotland will be independent. Personally, I highly doubt that if a referendum were held, Scots would vote to go it alone. Although I don't personally support a fully-independent Scotland, I have to admit that I am a republican (i.e. the monarchy is an archaic form of governance and the Queen should not be head of Canada - or Scotland), as much as I think Prince William is a (slightly bald) hottie.

Check out BBC Radio 4 tonight at 8.30pm (3.30pm EST) - or listen online - for an interesting analysis of what an independent Scotland would be like .