Handyman, shmandyman

For over a week now, I have been pestering the front desk at the hostel, to make sure they know I'm leaving and to clear up how many hours I need to work to cover my rent. I must have been down the loud, tinny steps a thousand times to try and reach Tim, the manager. It was all to no avail.

On Wednesday, I had a note on my door telling me that I should be moving out now (I wish). I had explained that I would waving 'sayonara' to this decrepit place at the end of the month. So I trawled downstairs, yet again, to remind the person on the desk. Sorted- or so I was told.

A night later, and it was Thursday. There was a more urgent 'Graham- SEE DESK ASAP' note on room #210. Less than worried, I tore the note from the door, and stormed downstairs. Still calm, but obviously irritated, I demanded what was going on. The duty manager was none-the-wiser as to what my situation was (of course, being that this same one person was the main one I had been talking to).

"You need to wait for Tim, mate," he uttered, in a perplexed tone.

"Well where is he? When is he here? Can you make sure he knows I need to see him?" I returned.

"Oh yeah, 'course I will. Sorry about the mix up, dude. He works on Monday next, so come down on Monday, and he'll sort it out."

So, less that content that it wasn't sorted on Thursday, I dragged my feet back upstairs (P.S. this was one of the main reasons my run was so long, in order to use some adrenalin and cool off.)

Saturday was the beginning of my last working weekend at the hostel. After a relaxed, yet heavy night on Friday night, I was in no mood to roll out of my pit too early, so in an act of defiance I started work at midday. At worst, I would pay $30 at the end for the hours missed in the morning.

With minimum production, I forced my way through those five hours. I performed the usual procedures- relieving floorboards of carpet, staples and nails, painting some borders, standing around. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to help out any of the management who had been swinging me around the place like David and his sling.

Today, the last day of work, the Sabbath day. Again, I struggled against the establishment and clocked on an hour late. When I got downstairs, I gently inquired about whether anyone was looking into my predicament- am I covered until Wednesday? Will I have to pay up the difference? Is Tim definitely going to be in tomorrow?

"Oh, you won't see Tim, he's gone on holiday for a fortnight." (?!)

"Well what's going to happen with my room and everything then? Is Pete (the Assistant Manager) going to be around?" I mused, obviously shocked and disturbed.

"He'll be in later, but I don't think he'll be able to help you," came the reply, from the bespectacled gnome of a desk attendant, whose name was Elvis.

I would say I was reaching the end of my tether, but I was well past that point: "Well WHO is going to sort it out then? SOMEONE needs to sort it, because I've been trying to get this straightened out for days if not weeks!"

Elvis raised his hand in a gesture of calmness, seemingly anticipating a scene. I am incapable of causing scenes, but I was reaching my composed limit. I marched upstairs, and back to my work. Today, I was varnishing floors. The fumes from the Liquid Plastic sent me into a distant demeanor- which was for the best.

Finally Pete, who I had liaised with on countless occasions, arrived at the hostel. Out of everyone, I realise this guy is a nice bloke, and I have a lot of time for him, even though he has constantly been the wall between problem and solution.

"I just have to go on what Tim has left in his notes, dude. It seems that once you work this weekend, your hours keep you paid up until Monday. So you just need to pay two more days to keep to your room to Wednesday," he said. Once he was finished reading the notes, he looked at me in an apologetic manner.

He continued, "Sorry about the confusion, man. You can have those two nights on a discount rate, so it's only $16 a night for those."

Now there's a resolution. I had prepared myself for a $60 payout, as I had gradually come to the realisation that I wouldn't be able to cover all the remaining days with my working hours. From start to finish, this final exchange took all of about three minutes. It was done without the aid of the Tim (who seems fictional to me, I have never seen his face), and used notes that haven't been updated since last Wednesday.

I breathed a sigh of gratitude and relief. Pete had gone from zero to hero. Finally I have no worries about the room, outstanding payments and anything I don't need to have anything more to do with this hostel. Three nights left....

"Operation Athlete"

Phase two of ‘Operation Athlete’ is in action. Gone are the pathetic 50 minute 10,000m runs, and in their place, mammoth 2 ½ hour marathons (well, technically, half marathons). This was my bright idea tonight, after finishing work with a runny nose and tired eyes. I was inches away from not even running altogether, but my will power shone through for once, and I took to the roads.

Usually I take a run along to the sea wall, up the shore to Stanley Park, then after reaching Second Beach (which isn’t particularly far), I turn around and head back along the dead straight, albeit slightly inclined, Nelson Street. It doesn’t take an hour.

Today, as I reached my turning point, I felt a surge of commitment to the Vancouver (half) Marathon on May 4. I did my power run up the steps to the Sequoia Grill, but instead of carrying on up the track on the way to the hostel, I turned back, headed down the steps and carried on along the sea wall.

This involves circumnavigating the whole of Stanley Park. To punish myself further, I took some detours into the park, up the massive hills (sprinting) and then returning back to where I left the sea wall to continue my jog.

Without my watch, I had no sense of time, but my legs weren’t too heavy as I came around the bottom of Stanley Park, so I made a conscious decision to take a similar route to the Sun Run, over the Burrard Bridge and back over Cambie. I knew that on Sunday, this took half-an-hour at the most. But on Sunday I hadn’t already been running for an hour.

As I neared the Burrard Bridge, I reminisced about the nipple agony I had been faced on Sunday. With the adage ‘Once Bitten Twice Shy’ in mind, I had cleverly covered up the offending nipple with a massive plaster that I stole from work. It was still a little bit uncomfortable as it came to terms with Sunday’s damage, but the ‘band-aid’ was doing its job.

Then my legs (and arse) had a say in the rest of the run. I had to stop momentarily at traffic lights, and suddenly my body remembered how far it had ran, and my legs muscles decided to totally seize up. I could have turned back to the hostel at this point, which would have taken five minutes- but I wasn’t going to be beaten.

I got myself over the Burrard Bridge and knew I had to brave the pain now. Triumphantly, I saw the clock on the Molson Brewery news reel. It was 7:15, and I had left the hostel at 5:25. Almost two hours. I had finished the Cransley Half Marathon in 1 hour and 49 minutes. I now know I can do the half marathon next week.

No walking allowed- that’s my long distance motto. I don’t care if I am jogging as fast as a turtle sleeps, as long as I am technically jogging, I am happy.

I was chaffing everywhere. Almost everywhere, I should say; my nipple was holding firm. I took a wrong turn along the sea wall, which meant I had to double back, following the Cambie Bridge away from the water until I could find some steps to get up onto the bridge and actually get across False Creek.

No walking allowed. Over the incline, up to the middle of the bridge, and I could feel the pain, but knew that I could make it.

One more stretch up Nelson Street, three blocks. It was uphill, but I dug in and sped up. The traffic lights played into my hands. Each crossing was flashing red so I had to sprint to make it over the road. It was an added incentive.

Suddenly I was turning onto Granville. I had done it!

It was when I stopped running that the pain really started. My muscles seized up, I struggled up the stairs to my room, and I slumped onto the ground. With the energy I had remaining, I attempted to stretch my muscles out somewhat. I caked them in muscle re-energizer that I had been given at the Sun Run fair. I wolfed down four Weetabix with two bananas chopped off.

I’m dreading tomorrow, and the next day. I envisage myself walking like a ninety year old. Was it worth it? ‘Cause it bloody was!

Normality almost resumed

Coming up to a month in my new home, all the beginnings of a normal life in Vancouver are almost in place.

I rang my new landlord yesterday, to see if I could get myself into the room on Victoria Drive sooner rather than later, still no luck.

I'm tired from the hostel. It is hard to get sleep, after work I am greeted by noise and drunkenness (at 5.15pm!) every single day. All I want now, is my own space, my own room, a kitchen that isn't always being used. Only a few days left, and then life in Vancouver will increase dramatically.

Yesterday evening, I took advantage of SWAP and attended ocean kayaking. The weather was teasing us with clouds all afternoon, but the climate was warm, and as we took to English Bay in our tandem kayaks, it was calm, sunny and perfect.

We circled the water near BC Place, past the marina and under the Granville and Cambie Bridges. We took part in a race (which Conor and I were sabotaged in), and gave my pathetic arms a good workout. Afterwards, we went for a drink, and I managed to acquaint myself with a few more SWAPers. Conor, who was in my boat, is actually from my university, and knows my ex-housemates from my student days! Was strange, chatting about Manor Quay and the Wearmouth Bridge with someone I have met 11 hours flight away!

With the Admin job becoming more autonomous by the day, I have been searching for more responsibility. I hope to get in on the training that is offered, as well as potentially get my mitts on some communications work. Fingers crossed, and hopefully a career opportunity is in the offing.

So now I wait. I attempt to rest, even though I will be working seven days again this week, and still train for my next run- The Vancouver Half Marathon! I will be an athlete after all!

Nipples and Marijuana

Yet another early start this Sunday. No lazy day, filling my stomach with roast beef and watching the Grand Prix. I was up with the sparrows, fit and ready for the Vancouver Sun Run.

I took some swigs of Gatorade, attached my number (#35548) and tightened my shoe laces. I was ready with intent. After meeting with all the other Mercer (work) runners, we made our way into the ring- the starting blocks.

I was inadvertently promoted to a green start (the non-elite runners were grouped in order of speed), which worried me because I hadn't been training as hard for as long as I would have liked. After the start, I wish I could have been promoted even further as I streamed past groups who had obviously chose green so they could be nearer the front!

Waiting for the air horn to summon the beginning of the race, I was pumped full of adrenalin. I felt like Georges Saint-Pierre must have last night as he delighted Canadians with his Ultimate Fighting Championship win. A Montreal lad, born and raised in Quebec, he topped the bill as the UFC came to the Bell Centre, and Canada for the first time. The Canucks go mad for this fledgling sport, and I have caught the bug.

It was a good weekend for sport. Joe Calzaghe remains undefeated in the boxing also, doing Wales and Britain proud with his dominance of now the Light-Heavyweight division.

So, brimming with British pride and determination, I stormed off the start, hitting the 2km mark before I knew I had even begun. Touching on the south side of Stanley park, the crowds bottle-necked, which made it tough to find a rhythm and/or space to stretch into any sort of decent jog.

A steep incline turned my legs temporarily to jelly as I strained to make my way up to the Burrard Street bridge . Once across, and nearing the final quarter of the run, I was in my pace. No problems to report.

Then the chaffing started. My nipples are sensitive at the best of times, but when the salty sweat comes between these delicate parts of my body and a rough shirt bouncing up and down with my jogging rhythm, it is like a cheese-grater has been taken to my chest.

I should have learned my lessons. Last year in the Cransley Half Marathon, I had secured plasters for protection against such a problem. With this race only being 10km, I thought I would get away with it. How wrong I was.

I braved the pain, and sped on to reach the Cambie Bridge. As you come over the centre of the bridge, BC Place Stadium comes into sight. Naively thinking that now I could see the finish line, that I could begin my sprint finish, I upped the pace. With 1500m to go at this point, I was close to sickness as I crossed the line. For some reason, I asked a fellow idiot (I should say participant, but putting your body through this is idiocy), to capture the moment in digital photograph form.

Another difference from the Cransley run, was that I hadn't attached my iPod to my arm this time. To solve this problem, the organisers had thankfully stationed live music acts at intervals along the route. It was a really fun carnival atmosphere, I want to do it again!

It was a glorious feeling, crossing that line. Coming away from the melee, hoards of leaflets were thrust into my hands; First Triathlon, 8km race, Vancouver Marathon. Obviously someone has mistaken me for an athlete. There is a first time for everything!

High on adrenalin, I sailed into BC Place, where there was free snacks, drinks, live entertainment and most importantly, somewhere to lie down. I was fairly sure I would be miles ahead of the rest of the Mercer contingent, plus I didn't want to be first at the brunch, so I took my time before I headed on.

I floated on to brunch with my Mercer colleagues, at the William Tell restaurant. Since becoming a temp at the massive international firm, I have been living the corporate high-life with meetings, brunches and all the clippings. Eggs Benedict and sausages later, I retired back to the hostel to begin domestic work. Washing and drying was a boring end to an exasperating morning, but it needed to be done, and I was in a healthy and efficient mood.

While I was painstakingly taking on the Vancouver streets in the Sun Run, my hostel comrades were busy slipping into drug induced stupors. It is 4/20 Day in Vancouver. A simple name for a simple festival. Marijuana becomes effectively legal in the city for the day, and 5,000 pot-smokers light up next to the Art Gallery to celebrate their wasteful lives.

A brief recce down Granville Street was enough to convince me that I am in a vast minority of non-marijuana smokers in this area, with a purple haze hanging over the low buildings of Vancouver's downtown.

The sun still shines in Vancouver. Snow was forecast for today (would I have ran if it had? I would like to think so!), and although a stiff breeze swirls against my skin, I can still go without a coat along Granville. I'm still waiting for summer to officially kick-off, and if I'm running in all these races that I have advertised in my hand, it is going to be a healthy one!

Fever pitch in BC

Sun Run fever has hit town. After work yesterday, I made my way down to the Vancouver Sun Run fair, where I collected my t-shirt, timing chip (which I am apprehensive about) and as many extra free goodies as I could get my hands on.

There was a bustle of interactive games, competition draws, pens, magnets, muscle rub...the list goes on, and all of it was gratuit. Being the intrepid man that I am, I made sure that I got my money's worth! The only problem is that my thighs are a bit sore today from exerting too much effort on the virtual bicycle race!

The training is over- I took my last practice run on Thursday, giving myself enough time to relieve all the aches and pains, and save as much energy as I can for the big day. I will be running for an important reason; the quicker I run the sooner I can have the Mercer (work) brunch!

Last night I was a 'ring-in', as the Aussies say, on a Moose Tour night out. It is a little bit like SWAP, organising visits, sightseeing and drinking binges. Even though I was the only Pom in attendance, I had some real fun. The pitchers of beer were never out of arm's reach, the potato wedges kept coming from nowhere, and the company was vibrant, fun, and typically Australian! At one point, the snow began to tear down from the skies, and the whole bar (which was 90% Australian) cleared out to witness a weather they had never experienced before. After my four months in Montreal, I wasn't so enthralled when I saw the white stuff floating through the air.

It isn't a pretty picture today. Minimal hours of sleep, followed by an early start, preceded by days of work and Sun Run training. It is a tired old body that I inhabit at the moment. Another week of the same, then I can finally move out of this hostel, into my own apartment, into peace and quiet and happiness.

For now, I will sit across from the hospitable Frenchman from Lyon, the outlandish staff, the Habs supporter with the feral hair and beard, the Glaswegian who plays his guitar (but not very well) and the hoards of quiet readers, who never say a word to anyone (I think that covers me aswell).

Summertime, and the living is easy

Finally, a day of summer. After months of snow faces, icy winds, bobble hats and numb fingertips, I once again wore trousers that didn't have to go to my ankles (I call them shorts).

The ingenious idea that Steve, Jonny and I had was to stroll up to Stanley Park, hire ourselves bicycles and then conquer the unruly terrain of the urban foliage north of downtown.

Apparently, everyone else on this sunny Saturday in British Columbia had had the same idea. The bike paths were packed to the nines as we made our way around the sea wall, down to English Bay, and then further.

We had planned to go around Stanley Park, and then maybe into the centre a little bit. In the end we scaled the whole of Vancouver, including Chinatown, Gastown (and the Steam Clock) and then finally back up to the park, and the longest, steepest hill I have cycled up.

After five hours of decent sightseeing and exercise, we finished with Beaver Lake in the heart of the park, where we saw Canadian Geese, cranes and even more beautiful panoramas. This city is the home of the landscape, where at some points you see the beach, the mountains and the city all in one capture. All stark in contrast, all gathered in this fantastically laid back place.

Is this the start of summer? If there is any justice, then the answer will be yes.

Billy Nomads

Even though I have been seldom exploring, travelling and discovering recently, it is not to say that I haven't been busy.

It's been all jobs, places, contacts, money, sleep, running, enrolling, researching, planning, saving, eating, walking, writing, resume-creating, telephoning, inspecting, grovelling, enlightening and frustrating.

Travelling, in general, has been the length of Granville Street to the SWAP offices, to search for homes and jobs, to telephone prospective companies and to ask advice on everything from where I should live to what I should eat for dinner.

As I extend my house searching from online to metro and bus-line, I have seen more of Vancouver, gradually creating a picture of what is where and why and how in this soggy, horizontal city. Only two apartments have I seen in reality so far, and they are as varied as I think 100 apartments would achieve.

One is in a Chinese neighbourhood, with most signs written in Han (Chinese) characters. I would be living with three Chinese computer programmers, who barely speak a word of English, but keep an impeccable household, and cook amazing meals.

The other is closer to town (not 25 minutes on the Sky Train), and in a predominantly white-Canadian area. The flatmates would be someone 'involved in the movies', and another who spends five days a week on a luxury train passing through the Rockies, serving wine and steaks to wealthy tourists.

They're similar in price, similar in size, yet the difference between Zone 2 (Chinese house) and Zone 1 (Canadian) on the transit system means over $50 on monthly bus/ Sky Train passes. I think my mind is made up. Just watch this space to see if I get my deposit in on time...

Friendly faces

I receive emails from Tim, about twice a month, recalling his hilarious and ridiculous adventures in South America and now Australasia.

In these emails, I hear about how he meets one person through a schoolfriend, does another ridiculous activity with another acquaintance, and then stays in millionaire mansions with friends of a friend.

Well it was about time I got away from the beaten track of tourism, and experienced some random, enjoyable, and promising events, thanks to someone I knew (of) at school.

So I met up with Jackie last night, and enjoyed her lasagne, Libby's (pickled) salad and also her delicious fruitloaf for dessert. It was a fun dinner party, inhabited by two Brits, two Canucks and two South Africans. So it was a healthy, cosmopolitan mix, and a really fun night.

I made some friends who I hope I can get to know better over this summer. I heard promises of softball teams, music festivals and basically just fun times ahead!

We headed to a club over the water from downtown, which was a welcome alternative to the endless queues and overpricing of the main city nightlife. It was also very homely and a relaxed place, and I had to bring out my dance moves! Hope I didn't terrify anyone away!

Cheers to good times ahead!

PS. I have also been working very hard! My new job as a maintenance man means ripping up carpets, varnished and sanding floorboards, and painting ceilings. This new found vocation explains the minimal entry I have made here, because I am absolutely nackered!

Big plans for big money

Today involved a number of different things- laziness, risk, confidence, tedium and hope.

Laziness

In the last entry I told how I had gone from no jobs to two jobs in a matter of hours. Well now I am back down to one. I was in the SWAP office, pondering my choices. Looking at the pros and cons of my new employment, and then at the pros and cons of being able to go on the SWAP night out tonight, I came to a conclusion. It went something like this:

Thoughts:
'The bussing job will be quite good, as long as the trade picks up, and then the tips will be better.'
'I'm hardly the most suitable man for a maintenance job, with minimal DIY experience and even less drive to do painting.'
'But I do get cheap board.'
'And with the maintenance job, I don't have to work tonight and miss the SWAP night out, therefore missing out on a chance to broaden my social circle in Vancouver.'

Risk

This was where I took my risk. I called Larry at the Sequoia Grill, and told him I had been offered a job in the hostel that was going to work out better for me e.g. less travel (true), better pay (true if tips don't improve), less rent (true). The risk involved is that the maintenance job is just a two day trial. If I am rubbish at maintenance, which I inevitably will be, I could be jobless again. The bonus is that those two days covers a weeks' rent in the hostel.

Confidence

I can get a new and better job anyway. Look at me- I have a degree, experience across the board in pubs and restaurants, call centres and any other crap summer-type job you can think of, I'm good looking (Mum and Kate can back me up on that one, if not- there'll be trouble), and charismatic (as before).

Getting a new job should be easy!

Tedium

To my credit, I did put in some valuable man-hours today. I printed off a bunch of resumes to hand out to prospective employers, I sent emails, and I also had some feedback from previous emails.

One was for a bar downtown, telling me to drop-in with my resume and talk to the manager. It was a nice place. Classy but not too posh, pricey but not overpriced. It is a place where a young man can make a lot of tips (not as much as a young lady probably, but oh well). It is a place where a young man can have fun, and make friends with other young adults.

I used all of my English 'charm' with the person that interviewed me. I included all of the watchwords that I have discovered, during my time in Canada, the natives go weak at the knees for (this includes 'rubbish', 'lovely' and 'cup of tea', although I didn't use the latter!). It seemed to work, and the manager was quite enthusiastic. I am hoping to hear from someone tomorrow about that one.

Hope

I was head-hunted for the first time in my life. God bless monster.ca, which has earned me 'real' interviews at two 'real' jobs now. The first was as a marketing assistant in Montreal. The second is as a marketing assistant in Vancouver.

A lady had seen my resume on the fabled job-search site, and called my mobile, insisting that I apply for this marketing job. At first, alarm bells were ringing. All I could see was flashbacks of my time at Anglian Windows and Conservatories, being told to 'fuck off' before I could utter one word of sales patter to unwanting customers.

I was reassured by my friendly British Columbian head-hunter Megan that it wasn't a telemarketing position, that I would be utilising my writing skills (which are what attracted her to the resume), and that I would be meeting clients face-to-face to discuss products. All very grown up, and potentially all very well paid!

-o-

Otherwise, I took some photographs of some views around the city. I have been here a week and have been lacklustre in putting my camera into action. Watch this space for uploads.

Vanny Update

Before I came over to Vancouver I was mainly worried about three things:

1. Would I be able to get a job before I ran out of money
2. Would I be able to make my money last until I managed to get a job
3. Would I be able to get a job?

Well, today I expelled all of those demons, with the beginnings of a promising career in being everybody's bitch (busser) at a delectable restaurant in the heart of Vancouver's beautiful Stanley Park.

It was an honest start to the working life over here. I would be making minimum wage, rely on meagre tips (the dregs of the tips that the main servers attain), and be able to live on for a few more months.

As if this fantastic and lucrative vocation wasn't enough, I was delighted to receive a voicemail on my phone informing me that I had actually managed to land myself another job! This one was maintenance work (i.e. painting, sanding, repairing) at the Samesun Hostel, where I had been staying all week. A couple of trial days on Friday and Saturday means I won't be paying for next week's stay at the hostel, which also buys me some more time to find better jobs. Ideally, bartending or as a server (waitress) in a restaurant downtown. People here live off their tips, which would mean saving money for travelling, soaking up sun, and capturing a ridiculous amount of scenic and enviable photographs.


But for now, I have these crap jobs. As Kate would say (in her mother-tongue): "Better than nowt, petal."