Monday 5 October 2009

Middle England Meets Baloo in Banff

Banff is a lovely Canadian village. It is on the tourist route and particularly popular with coach tours. I hate going abroad with my fellow Brits. The attitude is most definitely not one of when in Rome. If you are touring the States or Canada with a bunch of bourgeoisie Brits the attitude is colonial. It is even worse when touring Europe because all the cheap prices allow the most ignorant of British society to roam free across the channel. In Spain and Greece we export our drinking culture. While the NIMBY (not in my backyard) bourgeoisie of rural England take great pleasure in harking back to the 2nd war world war and the 60’s when Britain was great. Sorry guys it is gone. There are new enemies and they don’t make appointments on a battlefield with our forces so the officer class can have their afternoon Tiffin. Anyway, this whole story personifies the current attitude of the British bourgeoisie insecure, paranoid and always expecting somebody else to sort the problem out and why? Because I’m middle England and I pay my taxes.

So I’m on this coach on my way to Banff and I suddenly realise my worst nightmare has come true I’m now middle class. By the mere fact alone I can afford this jaunt my economic classification puts me with the middle-classes. Nobody burps loudly or uses foul language. Everyone is awfully polite while farting silently and looking innocent. The tour guide starts his speech as we pull up to Banff. There are the usual moans about not understanding him. So instead of asking him politely to repeat himself the cackling classes just moan about him not knowing the queens English. Before we get off the coach we are given a leaflet telling us what to do in the event we meet a bear. Apparently, in the event a bear comes after you what you have to do is put yourself into a foetal position. The bear may munch on your head or rip your arm off but under no circumstances should you move. In the foyer of the hotel there is an ever growing crescendo of moans from the Brits about the bear thing not being mentioned in the brochure. There is the usual mention of writing a complaint. However, all that noise comes to an abrupt end when the tour guide mentions the hotel is in fact a Motel and there is no restaurant. Shock horror we have to eat where the locals eat. The tour guide takes his life in his hands when he goes on to say that we are to meet at the coach at 7am and the only restaurant open for breakfast is a 10 min walk on the other side of town. Oh my good god a bunch of bourgeoisie have to get up early and walk to a place where we can have our shredded wheat to keep us regular.

The alarm clock goes off at 530am and I get dressed for my hike across town. It is still dark outside. I have this over-whelming urge to get dressed in a bear suit and knock everyone’s door then jump out and say, ‘I’m hear to eat you and paying your taxes wont save you’. In the motel foyer you can spot the Brits. They are the ones who wear shorts, rain-coat and dark coloured pulled up socks with sandals. It is cold and not raining. As I make my way towards town in the early morning twighlight I notice around 20 Brits from my coach party huddled behind a wall. I approach the group and when I get there they are scared shitless. One grabs my arm and pulls me down saying, ‘Get down you bloody fool he will see you’. Who the f**k is he? Michael Myers, Freddie Krugger, Hannabil Lector? I have a look over the wall and in the distance I can see the silhouette of a 7ft foot black bear. Someone in the group whispers, ‘What is it doing, is it coming this way?’ I reply, ‘I think so’. The guy legs it, two others put themselves into the foetal position whilst another suggests phoning 999. Errrr it is Canada.

I creep around the side of the wall to take another look. The bear is still standing there. One big hairy dude, a 7ft killing machine. Out of my backpack I search for my binoculars. As I look through the binoculars, I kid you not Baloo from Jungle Book is staring right back at me. Not a real one but a plastic 7ft model. His belly is a rubbish bin.

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