I gaze in amazement at the majesty of the Niagara Falls.
“They are really amazing and majestic,” I comment to the LTLP. The Toddler does not respond, as she is transfixed by a small fountain that is by the side of the street.
The Niagara Falls are like the Canadian version of the Norfolk Broads, but with more gravity and even more retired people. No matter how touristy the place gets, it retains an essential beauty that cannot be spoilt by expensive tat and hundreds of idiots taking photographs.
I take a photograph. I am pleased with my Norfolk Broads analogy. I love coming up with new analogies. Coming up with an analogy is like… I tail off, as I cannot think of anything suitable. As you stand leaning over the fence, you are able to look straight down to witness the thousands of tons of water sucked on and then crashing into the raging maelstrom far, far below. There is a sign. It reads ‘Danger – do not climb over this fence’.
Lots of people warned me ‘don’t go to Niagara Falls as it is tacky’. They are prejudiced. If you lived in Norfolk, YOU would realise quite how exciting it is to see a great big fuck-off fibreglass dinosaur atop a ‘Dinorama 4-D Dinosaur Experience’ attraction. We have nothing like that, if you do not count the small art gallery in the Village. In fact, the Falls are quite tasteful, once you get to them.
Standing in this very typical Canadian town, it is possible to realise how this sparsely-populated country produced more than its fair share of the great artists – Cohen and lang, Mitchell, Young and Shatner. There is an easy air that inspires one. But we are not in Quebec yet – we have been diverted. We head back to the PikeyLodge to continue our mission.
Pants!
Oh, go on – climb over the fence. Don’t be a tease.
You have an art gallery in your poxy Petit Trianon of a village? You’re lucky you kept that quiet while you were in Canada. Even so famously even-tempered a race as the anglophone milksops of Ontario might have been provoked beyond reason. The Frenchies, on the other hand, would probably choke you with your own foetid pants if it weren’t too much like manual labour…
in all fairness, the truth behind shatner’s slow pace when speaking is that while on stage at stratford – the one in canadia not the original one – he forgot the words that followed “once more into the breach dear friends…”
There are Pikeys in Canada?! Who knew?
Those pants have a worryingly yellow tinge around the fly area.
Don’t we get a picture of the falls and the sign? Or one of Jonny and the LTLP in those oh-so-fetching waterproof ponchos?
They ARE pants? I thought I was drunk.
Canada and pants.
I can’t take it in anymore.
Never been to the Falls, though it’s pretty much within shouting distance.
Had I known you were going to be there, Jonny, I would have “accidentally” toppled over the railing (a la Margot Kidder) into the rapids. Then you would have had no choice but to don your tights and swoop in and save me.
Or, more likely, snapped a photo of my final, frantic moments and posted it here. Next to your underpants.
Either way – enduring fame for me!
I find the pace of life in Norfolk quite stimulating.
There ARE fibre-glass dinosaurs in Norfolk — or at least there were. Pleasurewood Hills used to have a dinosaur lake, but it’s no longer on their list of attractions. Maybe the people of Norfolk just didn’t find the dinosaurs as exciting as you clearly did, Jonny.
And there’s Lenwade Dinosaur Park!
Kermit – I’d heard that story but the version I was told is that it was “To be or…” which also explains his fascination with split infinitives as he finished up with “… to… boldly… be.”
Yes, yes, I know Lenwade well. But they don’t have BIG DINOSAURS BURSTING THROUGH THE ROOFS OF BUILDINGS. All the Lenwade dinosaurs do is lurk about in the woods. It is not realistic at all.
They’re similies rather than analogies aren’t they?
Sorry, love the well travelled pants.
I went to bed too late, reading a horror book, my mind is still asleep…somebody please explain that analogy to me.
Absolutely not understanding the whole “pants” thing. For starters, those are boxers, or maybe boxer briefs. Everyone knows “pants” are outerwear — dress pants (aka trousers), generally. Everyone in Canada, at any rate.
So glad you successfully fought the urge to leap into the torrent. Good thing they put up those signs, huh?
Lots of great Canadian artists – the Adams boy the Moulder chap and some great writers.
Talking of greatness I think you should write an anthology of your analogies – it’s obviously a forte of yours.
Is that the first photo you’ve posted on your blog? Did you take it? Will there be more? Of chickens?
Of your dear self?
You threw those pants away?! You could have got another five years out of them.
If you kind of squint your eyes and look at those pants, they look a bit like a Stormtrooper.
Plz to not remind the world Bill is ours. It is one of our embarrassments, next to Celine.
I boldly go where no me has ever gone before to read the next installment.