Vancouver... again


The blog that I wrote last time. The one about getting drunk and breaking into stuff. That should have been one of the single best blogs I've written since I started this website. I should have been able to demonstrate the shit that went down at the mountain ops party in such a way, that it should have been gold.

However, as shit would have it, just as I started writing, I started to come down with some kind of fever. Sore throat. Temperature. That kind of crap. Something that I'm still not over as I'm writing now. Ironically, something that appears to make my writing, somewhat crap. But also, because of the relaxation of writing, something that actually encourages me to do it. It takes my mind off of how crap I feel. So I'm getting my excuses in now as to why this'll be a shit one.

Well I said during that last blog, that I would be sleeping on the couch in my last night in Invermere. Which I did. And ended up waking up about 6 times with a dry throat. Which made for a cunt of last night in Invermere. And as stupid as this sounds, I put this whole fever down to my leg injury.

My immune system has to be so shot after not being able to exercise properly, that I bet I had all these diseases just queueing up for me to let my guard down. And that time came at the staff party. I pretty much just finished off my weakened immune system with alcohol. And then something was bound to go wrong. Where as if I was exercising properly still. Like I would be if my knee was still in shape, then this little virus would all be in good fun. As it turns out though, it made my last day in Invermere, quite the cunt.

First off I was up early to put into action the "get free advertising out of the charity shop" plan. After which I had to make a specific trip to Sobey's, just for fucking Halls Soothers. A 25 pack that I soon had to ration because I was getting through them so quickly. And then I had to get a take-away breakfast from The Bistro, this little cafe in Invermere, because I still couldn't touch anything in the appartment.

Which really wasn't the way I'd hoped to start today. I hate to use any kind of medicine. Even if it is just fucking Halls Soothers, because I want my body to be able to heal itself. But today was a day that I was moving my whole life 700 miles down the road. And I really didn't fancy doing that on a day when it hurt to swallow.

The rest of my morning was then spent packing and tidying. Greg had said to me yesterday that he would be back at about 11:00 this morning. But I kept on receiving messages from him about how he couldn't make it back to town. That there was no one he could hitch with. Which was no surprise to me. He didn't make it into the retard box by accident. But on the last day. The day when we have to get the appartment into perfect shape, you just kind of hope, that for once, he steps up. He didn't. Meaning that once again I was going to have to do all the dealings with the landlords. Alone.

Within all this time, I made a call to American Backpackers to try and reserve for the next week. Which I did. Despite the fact that their website lists this place as $60 per week, I was informed on the phone that the charge was actually going to be $100 per week. Which was shit. Though I still booked it because, well, where else do you find a place for $100 per week?

Just to be on the safe side, I also made a quick call to the Greyhound Windermere station. Just to confirm that the bus today was still stopping in Invermere. When I'd bought my ticket there, the woman had told me that she'd call me again nearer the time, just to confirm this. And I'd received no call, so I thought I'd play it safe. And guess what she told me? The bus won't be stopping in Invermere. I'll have to catch it from fucking Windermere. A 2-hour walk from here. Though not much I can do about that one.

I said yesterday that I expected the landlords to be assholes about stuff. They're just the kind of people to get really fucking anal about nothing. So when they arrived, it was no fucking surprise that they started bitching and moaning that the carpets weren't clean enough. Apparently we hadn't shampooed them. No fucking surprise there. But despite being almost white still, they weren't willing to rent this place out again, with carpets in this state? Which was a pain. But also it deflected their attention from other things that we hadn't done. Like the duvets didn't come out of the covers so were dry clean only. Well I'm not going through the hassle of getting a duvet dry cleaned just because it's all pretentious and doesn't come out of the covers. So I just made both the beds (seeing as Greg wasn't here), to look as though everything had been cleaned. Fuck knows how many stains I've put on that duvet over the past 4½ months. The poor fuckers who're moving in there will surely find out.

Carpet So although I was pissed about this whole carpet thing, is was a good distraction from anything else. And they wanted to us to pay $100 to get the carpets professionally cleaned. I made a very clear and frank case that this was fucking retarded. $100 for a few speckles of dirt. But then they made the argument that no one would come all the way here to clean them for less than that. So I made the point that no one would even fucking notice the minimal bits of dirt that they were bitching and moaning about. And that they didn't need to get anyone out here to clean them. They disagreed. So in the end, they tried to call some carpet guy from in the phone book. He didn't answer, so they left a message on his phone to call back. Then we'd get an accurate quote. They were trying to say it'd be $100. I was disputing this just because I had nothing better to do. I expected it to be more than this. But the carpets were fucking clean anyway, so I was being an asshole just for the Hell of it.

In the end, they ended up leaving for an hour or so to go to the shops, in the hope that by the time they got back, we would have an accurate quote on how much to clean the carpets. One thing I did manage to blag through all this, was a lift to the bus station in Windermere.

I told the story of how I injured my knee, shortly followed by how I was going to have to walk for 2 hours with a backpac to get to the bus station. And they bought it. I'd blagged a lift to Windermere.

Within this hour, Greg eventually showed up. I think he was hoping that everyone'd be gone by now so he didn't have to deal with any of this shit. Because he's good at avoiding doing anything. Luckily I was dragging this whole thing out for as long as possible, so it was taking a while. I had a long time until the bus. And seeing as I was now getting a lift out there, I didn't have much else to do. I didn't have a 2 hour walk ahead of me now.

When the landlords arrived back, they still hadn't got any response from their carpet man. But they'd obviously taken my words that this was bullshit, to heart. So they said that they were willing to just charge $75 for the carpet. This was $37.50 each, for me and Greg. And they were probably accurate in their assumption that this carpet cleaning would be in excess of $100. And seeing as they weren't going to budge on the fact that the carpets did need cleaning; despite my best efforts, only losing $75 was a result. The oven wasn't exactly clean. The duvets needed dry cleaning. And although I was planning to walk to Windermere, if I was to get a taxi, that would be around $25. So I think we actually came out of this deal much better than we should have done. We got $400 of our deposit back. So I got $200 in my back pocket, and a free lift to the bus station.

On the journey there, I was just praying that the carpet guy didn't call back whilst we were in the car. If he did, and quoted like $150 or something... that could have been an awkward journey. Probably resulting in me having to walk the rest of the way. Luckily the call never came.

Windermere I was here fucking early. Like, 4 hours before the bus. So I dumped my bag in the waiting room, and decided to go for a walk around Windermere. See what it had to offer. Well the answer is... nothing. There is literally nothing here. Why the hell did they move the bus station here?

Well that walk took all of about 45 minutes. So I still had a Hell of a long time until the bus. So I found a field right across the road from the bus station. And sat there drinking the one beer I'd brought with me. And started on the small bottle of Jaegermeister that I think I literally bought in the first week or 2 in Invermere. I'd just never got around to drinking it. And seeing as my life had peaked at sitting in a field by the highway drinking beer and straight, warm, Jaegermeister, straight from the bottle, I also decided to take some pictures of ants. It seemed a good idea at the time. I had my good camera on me.

Ants in Windermere The little bastards never stop moving, which makes them a cunt to photograph. Zoom in on this one here, and I swear you can just make out the ants teeth!

This field I was drinking in, was technically private property I think. But that's something I really have a problem with. This is open land, in the middle of nowhere, which is not being used for anything. It's not someones garden. It's not being used as farmland. Why the hell should I not be allowed to be in here? I think it's bullshit. You can't just make claim to open space.

The way I look at shit, is that for someone to own land, then they have to have bought it off someone. And if they've bought it off someone, then at some point, someone has to have just assumed ownership of this land. And that is something that I wasn't consulted about and didn't agree to. So they can make as much noise as they like about this being private land. This is open land though. As far as I'm concerned, you can't just stake ownership to it. The only way I'm willing to stay out, is if I'm physically kept out. And that takes more than a puny barbed-wire fence.

Windermere bus station With around an hour or so before my long bus journey, I headed over the road, back to the bus station and into the restaurant. This photo taken from across the street in my field. I needed a feed before sitting on a bus all night.

And I have to say that it's a shame that the restaurant here is attached to a bus station. A good little place. Probably suffering because of the reputation that service station restaurants have. Worth going to if you ever happen to be in Windermere. Why you would be though is beyond me.

As I'm leaving and in the shop buying a bottle of Coke for the journey, I run into Laura in the shop. Turns out her and Moira, one of the ticket validators, will be on the same bus.

Now I'll give you one guess. Where do you think that the first stop this bus makes, will be. That's right. It pulls straight into Invermere. And there's 3 people waiting to catch it here. If I had made the 2 hour walk all the way to Windermere, carrying my backpac, I think I would be just about now, becoming the next Greyhound beheaderer. How the Hell can running a bus service, be done so fucking retardedly? This is exactly why Canada was the founding member of the retard box. Either it stops in Invermere, or it doesn't. It's that simple. It should be that simple. Yet no one seems to know; even the bus drivers, if they're supposed to stop there or not. It's fucking retarded.

Then the next stop after this is Radium. And getting on here were Kat and Kirsty. Kat going to Van, Kirsty having a day in Vancouver before moving onto Whistler. Kind of symbolic that they were on here as well. They were the first people I'd really met in Invermere. And now they'd be the last I'd see as well.

Well up until this point of the journey, I'd written nearly a page of a handwritten blog. Despite having only been going for 2 stops. But then talking to Kat and Kirsty. Plus the fact that this bus was really, really jumpy which made it hard to write, I decided to give the writing a rest for the rest of the journey. So when I started writing here today, I disregarded what I had written to that point. No point having a "most of a page" blog.

Sunset As we were leaving the Invermere area, we were driving out as he sun was setting. Not easy to take a picture of from a moving bus window. This was the best that I got. And there, at that point, that was Invermere. Done.

And for all the shit that went down there, I'm really going to miss the place. My knee injury isn't something that I'll remember too fondly. And learning more about ligament damage, more coincidentally than anything seeing as Everton have some soccer players returning from ligament injuries right now, I've come to accept, it could be another 3 months until I'm up to full strength again. I only walk like a semi-retard now. But it'll be a while until I can go running again. That pisses me off, but I've accepted it. I just have to find other ways to get the exercise that I need. Take up swimming again? Maybe start rollerblading again? Who knows?

And then something that I pretty consistantly moaned about regarding Invermere, the whole time I was there, was the accomodation situation. That I got stuck in town when I wanted to be up at the mountain. Why? Well the only logical conclusion that I've come to is that employee experience lost my application and I went way down the waiting list for getting accom. And that pissed me off the whole time I was here. How long did I spend on buses this Winter? I make it about 100 hours. How long did I spend waiting for buses? About another 100 hours. So this little fuck-up in EE, cost me over a week of my Winter. And I've gone on about that... a lot.

But you know one of the things I'm really going to miss? I'm going to miss the commute. Never will you ever take a short-distance bus journey quite as spectacular as that. I remember sitting, jaw-open the first time that I did it. But I guess just due to over-exposure, I'd become somewhat numb to seeing those views. But you don't know what you've got until it's gone. And I already have regrets that I never got any opportunity to take any pictures of this. I was always on the bus or hitching. And on no occasion was I ever stopped to take photos. I'll just have to store it in my memory.

You take into consideration that this was about as bad as it got for me, and you begin to appreciate that this was an amazing, amazing place to be. Everything from the mountains to the people. Even the deer that you live side-by-side with in Invermere. I'm going to miss them. And maybe the only thing that pisses me off about this place, is that I have to leave now. Because I would love to be back next Winter.

But who knows what could go wrong next time? Often it's best to leave something in fond memory, wanting more. This way I'll remember Invermere and Pano, as this place of good memories. Something that I can maybe revisit when I get all old. You can have too much of a good thing. So maybe it's better to leave now. Still in love with the place.

I won't bore you with the great details of this bus journey. The first bus dropped us off at Golden. Me, Kat and Kirsty went looking for a bar for this little stop. But they were all retarded and closed. So we just got a hot chocolate in the little cafe. I added a couple of shot to Jaeger to mine. Spice it up a little. Turns out that's not the best way to make a hot chocolate taste good. I just didn't want to carry the Jaeger anymore.

Then we moved onto the Vancouver bus. And initially I ended up with the seat right by the toilet. Having to sit next to a ginger person. How could life get any worse? But as the bus filled, this weird family, possibly of native American's; they looked like hamsters regardless. Just 300lb hamsters. Well they started sharing seats to save getting sat next to someone they didn't know. So I jumped at the chance to take this double. It was still only one row in front of the ginger, but it was a big step up. And combined with the fact that I could now lay down. Sort of. And that I still had a fever. I pretty much slept the rest of the way. I seemed to wake up at every stop. But I could literally blink as we were leaving one stop, and we'd be at the next one.

At times I'd have to check my clock to see if I had just blinked or we were at somewhere different. And for me on buses, I actually got a pretty decent nights sleep.

Though the ginger did keep on talking to me. And what's worse than having to look at a ginger? Try looking at a ginger who's been sat on a bus for 13 hours, when you've got a temperature. Ugh!

We arrived in Vancouver at about 08:00. I couldn't check into the hostel until 10:00. So I hung around with Kat and Kirsty in the bus station for a little while. Until the person that they were staying with showed up. I walked out with them, completely forgetting to even say any kind of goodbye to Moira or Laura (They weren't with us. Kirsty and Laura still aren't exactly close after Kirsty moved out of her house because of Laura). Ah well. Then they got the Skytrain one way. And I got it the other.

Well that was my plan. Going my way; into town, was way too full for me to get into the carriage with all my stuff. So I had to go the same way as them on a later train. Go 2 stops, then get off and come back the other way when the train was still quiet.

I'd never been inside American Backpackers. But if you read what was probably the first Canada blog, you'll know that I've been stood outside this hostel in the past. So I know where it is. So once I got off the Skytrain, I had a little time to kill. So I sat in a courtyard kind of place near the waterfront.

One thing you can't take away from Canadian's, is they are friendly. They might be founder members of the retard box, but they are friendly. Just sitting here, some security guard who was on patrol just came over for a chat. Saw the backpac. And then some other woman came over. Started talking to me. Started asking me where I was from etc. And I was initially thinking that she was after something. She was going to ask for money or something. But she ended the conversation simply by saying "... well I just wanted to welcome you to the city."

As 10:00 approached, I headed up towards the hostel. And luckily this time, I was able to get passed the front door.

First impressions were... interesting. It's what you'd expect for the cheapest accomodation that you can find.

This dark-skinned foreign guy was behind the counter. I say, counter. More just a hole in the wall. He had a butt-load of linen behind him. Not really organised in anyway. But he seemed nice. And he charges me $60 for the week. I thought it was going to be $100.

He then says to this equally dark-skinned woman, that he's only going to charge people $60 for walk-in today... Ok. I had agreed to pay $100 and there was a pricelist above this hole in the wall, quoting $100. But he decided to charge me $60. Rock 'n' roll. I'm not going to argue with that. That works out at $8.57 per night. Or probably about £5 with the current exchange rate. Not exactly paying out of the ass.

It turns out that this guy is Italian. He was travelling back in the 70's or 80's or something. Then he decided to just settle down. And open up a hostel. Not a businessman. Rather just a traveller not going anywhere any more. And you could tell with this place. There is notices everywhere written in marker. I don't think there has been any kind of refurbishment at anytime over the past 25 years. A period in which this place is very proud not to have raised its prices in. Although completely illegal in Canada nowadays, smoking is allowed indoors.

There is even letters on the wall about a time that they had to go to court to challenge if they were even a hostel or not. Displayed properly. And I'd have to doubt that they won that case with the way things are. It's cheap and it's dirty. But it is just oozing with character. No one is going to clean up the graffiti here. There are probably temporary repair jobs here from the 80's. A real unique place. You can say that much. The bottom of one of the showers is lined with cardboard. Figure that. And the Internet for your laptop. Well I'll try to get a picture of that at some point. It's this God knows how old, metal table. Falling apart. And on it, is this push-in coin slot, that you'd expect to find at a laundrette 15 years ago. And connected to this, is a cable coming down from the ceiling. It goes through this coin thing, and a cable comes out the other side. And into that you plug your laptop. You put 50¢ into the contraption, and voila. You have Internet. It really is something else. Internet was only invented 15 years ago or so. Most hostels have only had it for about 5 years. So how he's got a contraption to operate Internet seemingly from the damn 60's, is beyond me. Certainly a unique hostel though.

I'd spent all night on the bus, so I didn't hang around in getting out. I dropped my stuff, and headed out with the intention of doing a little reminising around Vancouver.

Platinum Club, Vancouver On the way out though, I noticed that the building next to the hostel (on the upper floor of this picture), was the Platinum Club. Where the 'I' in platinum is a chic with a whip. And then if you zoom into the black sign to the right of the doorway to this club, you'll see it says "massage" in 5 different languages. Essentailly this hostel is right next to a brothel. Awesome.

And to make matters even better, just down one block away, is the church of Scientology. Zoom in here and you can see the signs for a "free personality test".

I'm not sure how long I'm going to be able to hold myself back from going in for a free test! I've seen too much stuff about how these personality test fuck with your brain that I'm going to have to go in at some point. So if these blogs start sounding a little culty and retarded before long, then that may well be the reason why. I've become a scientologist.

Church of Scientology, Vancouver From here, after a long overdue, and very disappointing stop at Quizno's, I went onto Stanley Park. This is always one of the first places that I go to when I'm in Vancouver.

When I came here in '05, it was arguably one of the most important and most telling periods of my life to date. This was really my first time out on my own. No support structure of family or university or anything like that. I was, out on my own. New country. Hell, new continent. No friends. No family. No contacts. No job. No place to live. Nothing. At 19, this was really my first time, of true independence.

And like I said, it was perhaps one of the most important periods of my life. Because had I not done that, then I very much doubt I would have the same desires for travel and independence that I do now. But when you're doing something like that. Although a very valuable time, it is valuable, not so much for things that go well. But for when shit goes wrong. It's being out on your own, and shit going wrong, that you're going to really find out about yourself. And when shit goes wrong, you don't have people to turn to. You don't have the safety net like you do back home. Somewhere to go. Someone to turn to. You're on your own.

Duck in Stanley Park So back in '05. When things went wrong for me. Which they did. And I needed a place to think shit through. A quiet place I could come and figure shit out. I came here. To Stanley Park. I would often come to a very specific point within the part. Specific to the exact bench. But I'll keep that location to myself. But just because of that, Stanley Park is always one of my first ports of call in Vancouver.

And I think in total I spent about 4 hours here. Just wondering about. Reminising. Looking at how much they've butchered Prospect Point by commercialising it.

Back in late '06, there was a big storm. I know that, because on that day, I'd been to my first NFL game. The Seahawks had just lost a home game to the 49ers in some of the worst rain I've ever seen. And I was on the last bus coming up to Vancouver that night. And this was the first and only time I've ever consciously looked for the emergency exits on a bus before. As we were driving, on multiple occasions, transformers at the side of the road exploded in the weather. And right in the peak of the storm, we were driving over a bridge. And never before have I been in a bus under so little control. It was driving slowly. Really, really, slowly. Because going over this bridge, there was no shelter from these horrific winds. But even at what cannot have been more than 15mph, the bus was still banging into the curb. The driver just had no control. Hence why I remember consciously searching out for the emergency exits. There was a genuine possibility that this bus was going over the side of this bridge. Not that being in open water in this kind of weather would really be any better than being in a sinking bus.

Prospect point complex The next day, I was on the sea-ferry going over to North Vancouver. And whole tree trunks were floating around the river. This was, effectively, a natural disaster.

So I don't dispute that the seawalls at Prospect Point were damaged. Probably badly. Hell I came here a day or so later and it was all fenced off. But before this "disaster", Prospect Point was just place you could go. The highest point in Stanley Park. And was I writing at a place I had Internet, I would find an old picture I took back in '05 and show you. It was never a commercialised tourist attraction. Which is what it has been turned into now. You still cannot even get to the point yet. They haven't had the time to fix it yet. In nearly 3 years. Although they have had the time to add in a restaurant and gift shop. Which is fucking bullshit. Using this disaster as an excuse to commercialise a point of beauty into a money-making tourist attraction.

Prospect Point now Also in my trip through and around Stanley Park, I came across this weird little Indian man. He asked me where I was from. And if you want the best piece of advice you'll ever get, then if a weird little Indian man comes up to you in Stanley Park and asks you where you're from... don't say London. He started going on about some weird religious guy who is from London. Or in London. Or something like that. And then he started telling me I have to visit a website; alislam.org. And I was agreeing with him, just to get the cunt to leave me alone. But if I didn't look enough of a non-muslim in my army shorts, backwards baseball cap and Seahawks jumper, then I don't know who the fuck would. Because he was then begging for me... literally begging, for me to pray for someone or something that has something, or needs something, or something like that. I couldn't understand his very think Indian accent. It was all very, very "but-but pray for him please but-but-but." I was nodding along and agreeing with him. But I have no idea what this crazy Muslim was banging on about. But if me praying for this whatever it was, really is as important as he was implying with the sounds he made... then this guy is fucked. Because I couldn't understand a word this crazy bastard was saying.

Siwash Rock in Stanley Park, Vancouver And then after drumming into me the importance of praying for this something, I guess we can get into the small talk. "What is down this path please but-but?" Fucking mentalist. It's hard enough walking for 4 hours with only 1½ knees and a fever as it is. I do not need this kind of crap thrown in. Fuck me. It's a park for fucks sake. I come here to get away from all the retardedness of this city.

After about 4 hours of nearly non-stop walking in Stanley Park, I decided to head back to the hostel via Davie Street.

Davie Street is the gay area of Vancouver. Only I didn't know that when I first came here in '05. And the hostel I was staying in for my first night; the first hostel I ever stayed in (the HI-Downtown on the hostels page), was located just off of Davie Street.

On that first night, me and a guy called Tom who I'd met, ended up coming up to Davie Street and going to a bar. Based on the recommendation of the guy working in the hostel. My memory was jogged as I was walking down here yesterday that this bar was called the Fountainhead. Well the guy in the hostel had neglected to tell us that it was a gay bar. And you know, I'm beatiful. And the guy I'm with; well he was with me. So we spent the whole night wondering why none of the girls in this place were giving us a second look. And it wasn't until a day or so later that we found out why.

Stanley Park coastal path And it was a rare occasion that I returned to Davie Street after this. For no other reason than it just wasn't near anywhere I needed to go. So I just wanted to come down here again. Reminise a little bit about that first night in Van in '05.

And my God. You don't have to be a genius to figure out this is the gay area anymore. I don't know if it's a lot more brash down here nowadays. Or I was a lot younger and naive in '05. But it's pretty obvious. If all the gay people walking the street and the rainbow banners hanging from lamp-posts isn't clue enough. Then the fact that all the bus stops, bins, and benches are all bright pink, should be a clue. And this is the only place in the world where I've seen a homeless person blowing bubbles at people as they beg for money. Good to be back down here again.

I made one more reminiscing stop on the way back to the hostel. Mainly because I was hungry. But in '05, this little pizza shop on Pender Street, only about 3 blocks from the hostel I'm staying at, sold pizza slices for 99¢. That was fucking awesome. I lived there. And although the prices have gone up now. The cheapest slices I can find are at $1.25... that's still fucking cheap. Each slice is a small meal. And although not exactly inline with my desire to get back into shape here, it's cheaper to eat at that price than to cook at home. So until I get a job, I can see that I'm going to be getting through a lot of cheap pizza here. 99¢ though. Those were great days. With meals as cheap as $1.25, and my daily rent currently $8.57 per night. Although a job is important, it's not like I won't be living pretty cheaply. If my last paycheck from Pano is as affluent as I'm anticipating. What with it having my vacation pay and Good Friday pay; then I might be able to live off that check alone for 2 months if I'm prudent. Though that is a last resort. It wouldn't help me get into shape living this way. But better to plan with the economy being a cunt like this.

Third beach in Stanley Park, Vancouver When I got back to the hostel, after having a night on a bus, and having a fever still, I decided to have a little sleep. I was planning on starting to get the resume's distributed as soon as I got to Vancouver. But I really don't think that walking in, in my current physical condition, would get me put onto too many 'yes' piles. So I'm going to take a few days off. Maybe do some online applications. But have a couple of days at least, just relaxing and sight-seeing. Just get myself back on track.

When you pay $8.57 per night... you can't expect the best. And that includes the people staying here. Way too many brash, American kids here. Hats on a stupid angles. Watching videos about break-dancing and graffiti artists. It's like being back in the damn 80's or something. And these people don't really respect too much when you're sleeping. So it wasn't the best nap I've ever had. People moving about. Bringing mattresses into the room.

And once I'd woken up, I went to the TV room for a bit. But that was way too smoky for me to want to be in. I was expecting a call from Kat and Kirsty at some point. But I wasn't holding my breath. They only had my number. I didn't have theirs because they were supposed to be getting phones today. So after another little trip out, and still not feeling good. In fact, feeling worse. Not only did I also now have a cunt of an ulcer on my tongue, but I also think a wisdom tooth might be trying to push through. That with a sore throat and a temperature meant that going out probably wouldn't have been a good idea. So I was in bed again before 10.

Heron on Third Beach in Stanley Park, Vancouver When you're in this state... you sleep. Well. Now another guy in my dorm, had told me that one of the punk American wannabe gangsta's in the dorm, had been a right little shit the night before. Constantly coming in and out. Turning the lights on and off. Bringing people into the room. Living in a shared dorm with exactly the amount of respect you'd expect from a kid that watches videos about graffiti.

Well like I said, I was going to be sleeping heavily tonight. And I was. But even I was woken up by the smoke detector going off. Why? Well I'd slept through this dick turning the lights on. And bringing in 2 of his friends. And starting to have some kind of party in the dorm. Which included smoking in here. And I was only woken up when the smoke alarm finally went off. I could tell by the reaction to this though, that my dorm mates hadn't. Even that only put me into a state of semi-consciousness; something I guess is a positive of having this damn fever. But I remember enough to know that they weren't happy about it.

And as I left this morning, this kid, which is all he really is I guess. I don't know how old he actually is. But he clearly hasn't developed too quickly. Well he was still asleep. Let's hope that he's gone by the time tonight comes. And none of my stuff is missing.

A yellow flower by Beaver Lake in Stanley Park All of my valuables are locked away. But the kind of person who would bring 2 other people back to a dorm and turn the lights on and start smoking and talking to people whilst 3 other people are asleep in the room, is probably the kind of person who would steal a pair of underwear if he could get it. So I obviously have my laptop on me now. I have my good camera on me. And the rest of my electronics are padlocked away. Let's just home my cheap and free clothes don't go missing today then.

And where am I now? I decided to come to the library this morning. I wanted to do some writing to catch up with where I am. Plus it takes my mind off the fact that I still feel like shit. And there was no way I'd get the peace to do it back at the hostel. So I looked up the library on a map. And here I am. A big fucker of a place as well. And for some reason, there was almost a stampede as the doors opened. I didn't know what time this place opened today. I just happened to get here at about 09:50. It opens at 10. And there was just masses, and masses of people, who really have a hard'n to do some reading today. As the doors opened, there was a damn rush as people literally ran in. Then people started shouting to each other. I don't know if this happens everyday or what. But it was weird. It's just a library. It's just fucking books and stuff.

A bird on Beaver Lake in Stanley Park in Vancouver I did get a 6-month wireless account (free). But despite that, I can't get the wireless in here to work. Which is why I've been writing offline. I guess I'll just have to sit outside a Starbucks or something to upload it.

Last night I sent a simple Facebook message to Rory. If you were reading the early Canada blogs, well he's really the one person still remaining from Vancouver '05. Well I got a call from him as I was sitting here. If he can call me like that, it was so nice of Kat to call me last night. One thing that English's are retarded at, it's calling people. I do it as well. And I don't know why. It's just in our genetic code that we cannot call people when we say we will. Canadian's are a butt-load better at it. So maybe I'll be seeing Rory tonight. We'll see.

Lions Gate Bridge in Stanley Park, Vancouver But that's where I'm up to right now. I did get a little Internet this morning on a different computer. And the bad news is that The Pirate Bay have lost, pending an appeal. And not only that, been sentenced to 12 months in jail each. Which is fucking bullshit. They've just created infrastructure. And they've gone to jail for it. Because the billionaire music companies didn't like what they were doing. That's fucking crap. On the upside, Obama seems to want to introduce some kind of legislation regarding CO2 emissions. Something that should have been done a while ago, and for some reason took the findings of a pretty obvious study, that carbon dioxide gases are harmful. Figure that out. It took a study to come to that conclusion. But better late than never I guess.

And for today, that is me. Done.







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