Saturday, 22 June 2019
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
Overcast.
Not such sunshine on the Sunshine Coast today.
Just as well. Returning to Vancouver.
The greyness isn’t enhanced when I accidentally smash one of the villa’s mugs. All over the floor. They say such things come in threes. Today is no exception. Twenty minutes later as I’m clearing up accidentally knock a bottle of beer on the floor. With the rubbish bag that contains the broken mug. It’s going to be one of those days. Beer and green glass everywhere.
Sod it.
That’s two out of the three in twenty minutes. Just waiting for the third. It comes soon enough. Don’t worry. Accidentally knock the wing mirror on the garage post.
Sod it.
Three things.
Thirty minutes.
At least I don’t have to spend the day wondering what will be next.
Back the way I came to the ferry terminal but as have half an hour in hand, drive through Gibsons Landing. A jazz festival is under way. Roads are cordoned off. Speak with a marshal directing traffic.
Notice a strange accent. He’s from Hartlepool.
A monkey hanger then.
Bit of time spare this afternoon, so would like to go and see Mr & Mrs Vancouver, Miss Vancouver’s parents. Family friends that used to live in our village up until they left Blighty for Vancouver in the 1970s. Mr & Mrs Vancouver are of advancing years and now reside in an old folk’s home. Went to see them a few weeks ago upon our return from Hornby Island. However. I’ve forgotten where the nursing home is. Have sent Miss Vancouver a text but due to time difference, not had a reply. Drive to her apartment to see if I can retrace the route.
Nope. Memory is blank.
Search Google Maps for half an hour looking at all the nursing home locations that come up in the locality.
Nope. For the life of me can’t find it.
Sod it.
Would like to see them one last time before I leave. Sadly, it may be the last time I will ever see them.
Having given up the search, drive back to the airport to drop hire car off. As I approach the airport environs, Miss Vancouver texts the address.
Quick turnaround and back the way I came.
Surprised and delighted as I turn up in the home, as they thought they’d never see me again too. To enter the home from the street, you need to input a door access code. Which is printed on the outside so anyone can get in. Spend an hour with them but am unnerved by the resident psycho who thinks I’m her son and is clearly getting a bit anxious that I’m spending time with ‘other people’.
Not done nursing homes for twenty odd years now that my grandparents have died. Forgotten how bad they were. Remember when I used to visit my own grandmother in the local nursing home and another old lady, unrelated to me, used to keep coming up and hugging me, telling everyone that I was her grandson.
Time to leave as I need to return the hire car.
Yep. Time to leave.
Just open the door and walk out.
Ho. Ho. Ho.
Now that the residents have had their dinner, they’ve all been put back into their rooms and the whole ground floor of the nursing home is now in lockdown with all doors to various sections electronically locked.
Not a problem. Just open the front door and I’ll be on my way.
Nope.
There’s an access code to exit the building.
To stop residents escaping. I know this is possible as my grandmother made her own bid for freedom. Which resulted in being admitted to hospital.
Now, obviously, the staff wouldn’t be stupid enough to give the residents the access code. But Mr & Mrs Vancouver tell me it’s 1-2-3-4. Hmm. Tap it in. Followed by star. Nope. Try again. Nope. They try 1-2-3-4-5-6-*. Nope. Keep trying. 1-2-3-4 is not unreasonable as that was the access code the staff gave me to enter the back garden earlier. Keep trying. Until the system decides to go into its own mini lockdown because of so many failed attempts.
Sod it.
Locked it good and proper now. There’s obviously a fail safe break glass unit to exit in an emergency. But this is not quite an emergency.
Yet.
Need to find a staff member. But they are all administering post dinner drugs in various sections to which all access doors are now locked.
Sod it.
Try 1-2-3-4-* on one of the section doors. Click. Unlocks. Yay.
Find a nurse.
Tells me the front door code is 9-5-8-0-*. Yay.
Back to the main entrance lobby. But need to exit this section. 1-2-3-4-* doesn’t sodding work. Try again. Nope. Now locked in deeper and deeper into the depths of the nursing home. Mr & Mrs Vancouver now alone in the front lobby section.
Call the nurse.
She taps in 1-2-3-4-*. Click. Unlocks.
What?!
Hang on. It didn’t work for me. Flipping thing.
Back in the front lobby section with Mr & Mrs Vancouver.
Tap in 9-5-8-0-*.
Nope.
Not working.
Sod it.
Try again.
Slowwlllyy.
And.
Geeennnttllyy.
Ta da.
Click.
Unlocks.
Phew.
Mr & Mrs Vancouver now know the exit code.
Can see them plotting their escape as we say a final goodbye. They’ve got that glint in their eyes.
After finally dropping off the hire car, it’s a taxi back to the Pan Pacific Hotel (https://www.panpacific.com/en/hotels-and-resorts/pp-vancouver.html). Taxi driver, of Middle Eastern origin, is told ‘Pan Pacific’. Off we go. He knows where it is. So do I.
Taxi driver eventually pulls up outside a hotel. Not my hotel. He’s taken me to the Pacific Rim hotel. Another hotel. Muppet. He’s taken me to the wrong hotel. I’m not that bothered. It’s a flat rate anywhere in Downtown. His loss.
Another excellent Indian curry at Salam Bombay. Been here a few times now over the past month. It’s now at the stage where I walk in and don’t need to order. They just know what I want.
Walking back after dinner, see that there’s a jazz festival on in town. For some inexplicable reason, there’s a group of rappers performing on stage, as part of the jazz festival. The pair of old black socks I’m wearing are more jazzy than this rabble, as you will hear from the video below.
Bloody racket.
