Canada has striken again!

"Do you like it?" he asked with a warm and non intrusive smile.
"I do, it's really nice!"
"But you haven't eaten any yet! You are still eating the salad!"
"Yes I have, there were 6 parts, now there's only 5!"

And he nodded, smiled and went away. Later, as I was watching who seemed the restaurant owner or manager, helping himself out of a dispenser of a white liquid I suspected was arian yoghurt drink (or whatever they call it) he, the smily shef, came back to me with one of those very odd and wonderful aluminium ancient looking jugs with the white liquid in it, and he said "Try that, that's on me! I hope you like it!"
It was really nice of him as I had ordered no drink and was half way through my meal.

What an odd afternoon in Tottenham, rung the bell of the psychotherapist who wasn't around and found this heaven of strangeness which, I couldn't believe it, was made out of real wood logs stuck on the wall in several places, it must have taken someone ages to think about and organise. It was an amazing decor, and my Pide, mixed, was so fine and worth of the best turkish chefs.

I kept looking at the wood.
Canada, canada, canada...Why canada? I don't know why Canada. But it just didn't remind me of home where they have wood stacked up in this manner. It just reminded me of Canada.

Canada. A place to sparkle in the dark light of my mind drifts away to the elephant's meeting points as ... They get this calling.

Canada, why Canada? Clive? Why?

This is the 3d time for me, I was joking about Canada, before. But now, (it is calling to me as life drifts past)