How great is this?!

Hello all,

I'm now speaking to you via a blog instead of e-mail and it's all cos of my wonderfully talented and woefully unappreciated friend Neil Dawson. Some of you may know him as Dawson, Daws or even D - but from now on we should all refer to him as the Intialiser - the man who can make things happen. Like Sam from Quantum Leap, but from Norwich rather than the expanses of time. Sir, we salute you.

Unfortunately, cos of the incompetence I've already spoken of in earlier e-mails (or simply glance down the new blog!) the chronology of these posts is not strictly correct and the first two messages appear at the top when they should be down below. But as friends I think we can let that one slide, can't we? From now on I am committed to providing a first-class blog both technically and linguistically. 'Citing, I'm sure you'll agree!


Anyway, pioneering technical achievements aside, it's time to bring you back to the world of the stranger in a strange land. Things have got decidingly different for me since I moved out of the Global Backpackers Hostel - a chaotic place filled with little gap year imps - and into the more subdued Clarence Castle. This is not to say I'm not having it 'large' with the best of them; on the contrary, tonight is karaoke night (my third since arriving in Canada - huh?!) and I plan to eat, drink and make merry melodies with said best of them. The difference with CC is that it allows me to do all this merriment on my own terms. There's a strict quiet policy after 11pm here which means that, while you can go out and party-hearty all night, coming home is exactly like that - it's coming back to a peaceful sanctuary that allows you to sleep when you want to and until you want to. All this is enforced with extreme prejudice by the proprietor, Danny. A brute of a man whose entire body throbs as you speak to him, but who insists he is a wimp. I am a wimp and let me assure you, Danny would be redirected were he to arrive at our headquarters demanding membership - albeit wimpishly. However, along with the brute I seem to be in a room populated with members of the Australian rugby team and next to their buff, tanned, some would even say flawless physiques, I think I resemble a new-born baby bird. Pink and fragile and trembling. Ah well.

Because of all the above reasons, apart from maybe the bird metaphor, I'm gonna stick around here for the next couple of weeks while I continue trying to find a job. Those keeping abreast of the story so far will have been on tenterhooks as to the outcome of the Elephant and Castle bar-tending vacancy. Disappointing news, I'm afraid. So it turns out the job which was 'definately' available, transformed to 'filled' without so much as a cursory interview for the position for poor ol' muggins Partridge here. I might be getting paranoid, but could it be possible I'm not as charming as I once thought? Write soon and tell me your thoughts on this. Make them positive though - essentially write and tell me I'm charming. Down but not out, I went immediately from the sorry bastards at E&C (they'll pay, they'll all pay) to a temping agency where I was welcomed with open arms. Hoorah! Needing a shirt and trousers I went to the appropriate outlet where I was completely railroaded and walked out with a new suit. A suit?! How the fuck did that happen?! They saw me coming, that's for sure. The guy kept telling me he 'wouldn't do this normally - but for you, sir...' What a mug I am - but it is a nice suit and - having shown it to a number of puzzled-looking strangers at the hostel - I'm assured I wasn't ripped off, at least. Gotta let this suit thing go.


Only a couple of other things I thought you might want to know. It's possible you don't, but if that's the case, why are you reading this? Anyhoo - on top of looking for gainful employment I've been making an effort to find a more permanent residence here in Toronto and as such, have been travelling an awful lot on the public transport system. There are a couple of mental hospitals around here (not sure that's how I should describe them, but that's how they were described to me - what is the correct term for them? Answers on a postcard) and one closed quite recently, allowing the former inmates free reign across the city. If you want to meet these raisin cakes all for yourself you need venture no further than your closest means of public transportation. The vast majority of the dehospitalised are what you would term 'mutterers'. Fairly self-explanatory, the mutterers spend their time talking to themselves and occasionally treating you to a brain fart all of your very own. I'm told these are all very common - something I learned quickly for myself now I've been on the system a few times - and totally harmless. I find this 'harmless' generalisation from my Bunac orientation lady a little misleading as I can't imagine she has a fully rounded psychological profile on all of these nut-nuts, but on the whole they're jolly good fun to watch and until I get presented with some homemade brown fish that's what I'll continue to do. Yesterday I was approached on the subway by a fruit loop with the longest nose hair I'd ever seen who declared that he'd built a flying saucer for a Tim Allen movie. I liked that one the best so far - but nutwatch will keep you posted for further insanities. There's also a guy called Naked Santa - with web pages dedicated to him, I'm told - who arrives at various parts in the city with his freakishly well-toned body and treats passers-by to a series of aerobic exercises, all with a nice Santa hat on. I hear this routine even continues into the viciously cold Canadian winter months, confirming his mental illness, if it really needed confirming.

Anyway, keep writing, you lovely, lovely people and let me know what you think of the new technically-advanced version of your old chum. Bye for now.