Letters From (North) America #9

In which we try our luck at a traditionally Canadian sport, are consumed by patriotic fervour and make some new friends...

* Picking up organic veg, spicy potato dumplings and Mexican hot chocolate at the Riverdale Farmers' Market while trying to avoid the film crew (is all of North America just one big set or something?), we learned more about some of Cabbagetown's most famous residents from the big heritage sign in the park, which read like a page from 'Men Of Achievement 1974'. Who would have guessed that Benjamin Brick, who finally found fame "for his richly–decorated plaster moldings and elaborate ceilings", did indeed start out as a bricklayer, or that Tony Brady was "a writer, actor, magician, hairdresser, animal breeder and traveller, as well as the creator of a clown named Briget" who at one time had 30 parrots and macaws in his house?

* Wandering around Riverdale Farm, with which the Farmers' Market is associated, we met some of Cabbagetown's current residents, including Ginger the Tamworth sow and her nine piglets, an inquisitive turkey and some goats which were very soon Jenni's new best friends. If she'd had her way, we'd have stayed all night.

Some of Cabbagetown's newest residents

I've got my eye on you...

Jenni and friends

* Curling: forgetting about the blip of their recent footballing exploits for a moment, the only sport the Scottish are any good at. Surely for that reason, as well as for it being their invention and something for which you NEED to drink Tennent's Super just to keep warm, it shouldn't be considered a sport? But, as it turns out, the Canadians take it very seriously. We were mocked for being astonished that there are several rinks purely for curling in Toronto - of course you can't play on ice that's routinely skated on! Watching Nay compete in a league match, Debs patiently explained the rules and terminology to us over pints of Keith's. Looking around at some of the participants and at the photo hall of fame upstairs, I felt like Marcus Brigstocke in an installment of 'Trophy People'. We should have seen it coming, but with Nay's game finished early and one of her team an amateur coach, it was inevitable we'd end up giving it a go. Two pints down, a lot of ice, enthusiasts watching intently on the other side of the glass - the potential for embarrassment was huge. But thankfully, despite our propulsion of the stones being erratic and our aim wayward, we did manage to retain some shreds of dignity. JonnyB might claim that crown green bowls is the new rock 'n' roll, but he's wrong - curling is crown green bowling ON ICE, after all. It's that frisson of danger that gives it the edge.

Jen in action

C'mon grandad, get with the program - curling's what all the cool kids are doing these days...

* No foreign experience can be complete without a visit to an ex-pat bar for an England game. In our case, the bar was Scallywags, home of the local branch of the Liverpool Supporters' Club, and the game was the ultimately ill-fated European Championship qualifier in Russia. With kick-off at 11am, it was too early for beer; ordering our coffee and hot chocolate at the bar, a Manc accent piped up: "I think they do Digestives too..." Nothing like proper English wit to make you feel like you're at home. I won't be back, though - being bizarrely superstitious when it comes to football (it does that kind of thing to ordinarily rational people), I crossed it off the list as soon as the final whistle blew on the defeat.

* Unfortunately, even on a holiday like this not everything you see and do can be breathtaking, memorable or fun. This we realised after eating the most average meal of our trip and wandering under overcast skies alongside the deserted grey-coloured sandy beaches to the east of the city. It was like being in a British seaside town out of season, except not quite so cold. Despite its name, Lakeshore Boulevard turned out to be not a pretty promenade but a noisy, dirty arterial route running right alongside the sewage treatment plant. Assailed by the smell, we sought refuge and answered the call of nature in a stripmall Burger King. And then, when we set off once more back towards the city, it started to rain.



* The internet, as I'm so fond of saying, is a truly marvellous thing. How else could I have "met" a resident of Guelph, Ontario through writing for a music magazine, subsequently enjoyed his blog and benefitted from his generosity and excellent taste in music to the tune of several very dear albums? Guelph being only an hour or so away, our trip provided the ideal opportunity for me to meet up with fellow Los Campesinos! enthusiast Ian in the flesh. A great evening it was, too, taking in a visit to HMV, a Mexican meal and then drinks in Bocca on Baldwin Street - the languages of music, football and beer are international, after all.

Doing our bit for Anglo-Canadian relations