Politicians, pub-snacks and pies

So anyway...

On Saturday I decided to give the old ball and chain a mini-break from marital hell and headed out with Shane to Steveston - a quaint little coastal town just south of Vancouver. As always with Shane, had a predictably great day; shopping, schmoozing, knocking back pitchers of beer and upsetting the waiter with we-thought-we-were-being-discreet-but-actually-you-could-hear-us-in-Toronto boy talk. Well, as we were wandering through this one-street town I almost passed out with shock. A real double-take moment. There before my Optrexed, Cliniqued and Moschino-shaded eyes stood a vision of heaven itself. No, not Clive Owen in a Speedo, but a store. A store sent down from above by the good Lord himself - 'The British Home Store'!

No dear readers, not some far-flung branch of good old 'BHS' - there was n'ery a novelty Christmas gift or a polyester-mix sweater in sight - but rather a tiny little hole in the wall packed to the rafters with gourmet treats from the Homeland. After carefully manouvering through the Princess Di plates and Loch Lomond tea-towells that stood at the front of the store - pressumably to filter out the hardcore ex-pats from the regular slew of Asian tourists and shortbread-seeking Canadians - I was rewarded with row upon row of imported artery-clogging goodies; Parma Violets, Quavers, Hula Hoops, Lancashire Mild cheese, Branston pickle, Melton Mowbray pork pies, Ambrosia custard - hell, they even carried McVitie's Jamaica Ginger Cake! I can't bring myself to even think about the prices of such homespun luxury (let's just say that a Fray Bentos pie would've left you with little change from $15). After buying out the store Shane and I celebrated with a cheeky pint of Stella - at which point I delved into my bag of goodies and whipped out a bag of Scampi Fries! If it wasn't for the abundance of Canadians, proximity of the Pacific ocean and generally better quality of life I could almost have been at 'The Railway'... 'twas a happy moment indeed. I have spent the best part of this week grooming Michael in the ways of the British food cupboard with varying degrees of success. The ginger cake was a resounding success, the scotch eggs and Soreen malt loaf were met with indifference while the Pickled Onion Monster Munch flopped badly ("They hurt your tongue!" That's the point, Michael...).

On a more significant note (more significant than McVitie's 'Ginger Nuts'? Surely not!) - I had a meeting with our local MP, Hedy Fry, this week. Hedy is our Liberal MP and the lady has her sights set on party leadership and, ultimately, Prime Minister. This woman has ambition... Anyway, after yet another fist-clenching, scream-inducing, head/wall banging phone call to Immigration re: the status of my application (this one regarding the simple question of whether or not I would be allowed to re-enter Canada if I left to go to my Godson's christening; 'Probably' was the response. PROBABLY! Like I'd asked her nothing requiring a more commited answer than 'are you going for a drink after work tonight?') I decided to vent my frustration in a proactive way and... write to my MP! How terribly sensible I'm becoming. There was a time when I'd've loaded up on cheap wine and either called for a manager, screaming hysterically or firebombed the placed, depending on level of innebriation. I guess I'm growing up... So, Hedy's office called the day after and invited me in for a chat - one cup of coffee and a brief discussion later and the potential-future-PM-of-Canada has only gone and written me a letter requesting they hurry the hell up and make me legal already! There was even a line in the letter that said '...it would be in Canada's best interests to expedite this work permit and allow a professional, capable and eager young man the rights he is entitled to'! Now,I know I'm bloody marvellous and all that but this just about takes the Jaffa Cake. 'In Canada's best interests'! ME! I am officially the queen of manipulation and bullshit.

Whilst all this political schmoozing was going on (expect the headline 'Hedy Fry in Bi-Brit sex shame!' to be appearing on the front page of a rag near you soon. Well, you can't expect a Politician to do you a favour without some form of reciprocation...) I was actually taken to one side by the Exec Director of the AIDS charity I volunteer for and offered a salaried job! I knew baking cakes for meetings and wearing tight shorts would pay off... It isn't the greatest salary in the world but I get so much out of the work I do there, not to mention the incredible learning opportunities and the fact that I have the chance to walk straight into a job in Vancouver where I have already established myself and I know everyone from the MD to the El Salvadorean cleaning lady... Just depends on whether this friggin' work permit materialises soon.

It's all falling in to place - keep everything long enough crossed that my new BFF Hedy comes through for me...