As part of a writing course that I was taking, we were given a promote form which we were supposed to rite a descriptive scene.

I don’t usually use people I know as an inspiration, in fact after a friend asked me “am I in your book,” I made a video explaining how and why the answer is ‘No.’

But this time it just fit so well. As soon as I saw our writing prompt, I knew exactly who this was, an old co-worker

Here’s the prompt:

You know why British people don’t talk to each other on the Tube? There’s no weather down here to discuss.

And here’s my submission:

Hey, I think I know this guy. He’s a junior-level accountant from Canada on an extended business trip to London. He’s cocky, confident, and has no filters. He isn’t talking to anyone in particular, he’s telling everyone within earshot his opinions of you Brits.



He does this daily on the Tube (or Toooob as he insists on saying it. He thinks he’s funny.). And he has a lot to say.



Please understand, until he opens his mouth, he presents well. He is clean-shaven, neat, and well-dressed —competitively so — but he avoids sitting or standing near the sharply-dressed businessmen with their impeccably-tailored suits. He may be competitive, but his suit is still off the rack. He justifies this as common sense. Besides, he tells himself, he carries it well. Surely, most people would assume it’s tailored.



The weather, and the way Brits talk about it, is just one flash point for him. “It’s raining; it’s drizzling; intermittent showers; perhaps it’ll rain later, carry an umbrella.” He almost sings. “Get some real weather, you wimps.”



If that leads to a fight, well, good. He’ll show you a good ‘shirting.’

What? You think Canadians are docile and polite?

He’ll change your mind.

For him, nothing’s as good as back home, especially nothing British. 

For one thing, there’s no hockey on TV here (Don’t you dare call it “Ice Hockey,” it’s hockey, dammit! He should know, he used to play it. True, he wasn’t good enough to rise above the Junior B level. There were no scouts following his stats, no university scholarship, no professional career. But in his heart of hearts, he’s a hockey star, Wayne Gretzky’s true successor.).

What goes with hockey? Beer.



He wants you to know just how much British beer sucks.



So does the music… Don’t get him started… Oh, wait, someone’s listening to Adele just a little too loud (probably trying to drown out his voice).

There he goes…

“The last good band to come out of England was the Stones, and even they peaked forty years ago. Why can’t Brits listen to real rock, like Canadian rock? What do you mean, no one’s ever heard of The Tragically Hip?” 

Don’t get him wrong, The Hip may be his favourite band, but Rush’s “Tom Sawyer” is his personal anthem. Its Ayn Rand philosophy calls to him. Not everyone has a personal anthem, he informs me, but true men like him do.



And British food? “Chicken Masa-something…what the actual foreign crap is that? Where do they keep the real food? Hello-o? Where’s the beef? No, not a stew, dammit!”



He can’t wait for the day he gets to go home. Neither can London.

Mind the gap.