Saturday, 26 June 2010
Halifax, Canada
In need of the revitalising properties of a bacon buttie, head off to the Farmers’ Market. Best place to try for a bacon buttie. Place order at stall. Pay up. Given a ticket. Sit and wait. With my coffee.
And wait.
And wait.
Soon becomes apparent that yours truly is not the only one waiting. Mutterings of discontent from other tables.
Takes a sodding hour to get a bacon buttie. By which time the Farmers’ Market is packing up. It obviously not being the crack of dawn. Bacon buttie is more lunch than breakfast.
Fully revitalised am to take a tour of the Alexander Keith brewery. Founded in 1820, the marketing blurb promises an unforgettable tour with songs, stories and, obviously, beer tasting. Unforgettable yes. Rather annoying, to the point of irritating, young girl gives the tour dressed in early 19th century dress. Far too happy to be doing this job. She clearly wants to be an actress. Judging by the over enthusiastic performance of singing and dancing we’re given enroute. Which culminates in the entire tour group having to exit through the doors and out in to the Farmers’ Market singing, skipping and clapping.
You can imagine the embarrassment, dear reader, of being watched skipping out from a brewery, singing and clapping.
All nonce like.
In need of some fresh air, see another amphibious bus tour. Having escaped a sinking in Ottawa, will try a second time. Fifteen minutes to wait for the next departure. Feeling peckish, spot a ‘Beaver Tail’ stall. Iconic Canadian food. Think a long and large flattened doughnut. Without the hole. Made with dough and deep fried before being covered in a variety of toppings. Sugar. Chocolate. Nutella. Fruit. The usual stuff.
However.
Told it will take fifteen minutes to make.
Now about three minutes before departure on the amphibious bus. Situation is explained. Pity is taken on me. Promptly served someone else’s Beaver Tail so I can jump on the bus. Like now. Much to the disgust of everyone in the Beaver Tail queue. Can do queue jumping when I want, dear reader. Slope off pretending to be French. People tutting. Scoffing my freshly fried Beaver Tail. Oh, it’s good, dear reader. Very tasty. Very unhealthy.
Board the amphibious bus. Not many seats so choose to sit at the back to avail of the legroom. It’s a seat for three but two guys already occupy most of it. Motion that I’m going to sit there. Very reluctantly they shift up. Lad now in the middle is chewing a toothpick. Whenever I see people chewing a toothpick, there’s something in me that makes me want to ram it down their throat. Once worked on a construction project in Frankfurt which had an Italian contractor. All the Italians used to walk around chewing sodding toothpicks after lunch. Ooh. I could quite easily have a field day.
The tour around the town shows up nothing new as did most of that yesterday but the best bit is when we hit the water. Chugging past the massive aircraft carriers. Getting ready for HM The Queen tomorrow and the Fleet Inspection. The US Nimitz class carriers dwarf the Royal Navy’s HMS Ark Royal aircraft carrier. All the fleet are surrounded by a 200m boom forming an exclusion zone to prevent any incursions.
Marines patrol in their speed boats.
You wouldn’t want to mess with them.
