Hate Crime

I was in Nova Scotia last weekend. My uncles live there. It was class.

I flew over on a plane, it's too far to drive. A fat cunt inched into the seat beside me, and the fat, selfish bastard spilled his meaty bulk all over the arm rests onto me. He had the gall to tsk and say that it was cosy, like it was the airline's fault. I gave him a cross-eyed stare and meekly agreed, smiling blankly until he looked away.

It was a class weekend. We saw loads of stuff, and talked loads. My uncles and their families are wonderful people, tolerant of my endless, childish questions and craven, lunatic outbursts. I love them both. I love them all.

Nova Scotia is dead nice, really friendly and not like Quebec at all. We went to the sea, but it was too cold for me to even put my face in. The waves kept chasing me away. I didn't want to get my feet wet. I saw a puppy dog. He was nice. I bought Wee Chub a wee cardigan that has sailboats on it. I like it. She doesn't give a shite.

I missed my baba. I'm bringing her next time, and Tina too. All of us, like gypsies. She'll love the sea and the dogs. I missed them both. The sea is a very sad place, in the evening and when it isn't summer. It's beautiful, though.

I looked out at it, like a Vietnam veteran who is putting his demons to rest while flashbacks of Woodstock and Jimi Hendrix songs play across his face. Happy, yet sad at the same time. And bald, with long hair at the back, and a straggly moustache. And a bandana. That was me. And army fatigues with peace symbols.

I flew to Nova Scotia, and it was effortless. On a plane, wait a wee bit, sit and watch a shite film, drink a small, overpriced thing of beer and there you are, landing in a new place. Isn't the world small? So small, so close. I changed time zone, and landscape and crossed sea and it took fuck all time. The closeness of it excites me. So many different things so close by.

I'm gonna learn how to drive, soon. I am learning, I'll get my license I mean. Then I can drive to Nova Scotia. It's not an island. I thought it was. It's a peninsula. Like Korea and the Ards peninsula.

I ate fish. Fish and chips. We went out for lunch, and I could have had anything, any special thing, and I chose that. My uncle was disappointed, and couldn't hide it. He had a magnificent seafood soup, with mussels, clams and chunks of cod in a broth. I picked fish and chips, for no discernible reason.

-You're a fuckin' daft cunt. You could have had anything on the menu and you chose fish and chips. Anything.

-I know. And I don't know why. I like the look of yours. But I chose mine.

-Is it nice?

-Yea.

I think I'd choose the same meal again. I love fish and chips, love them more than I am willing to take a chance on some mad fuckin' seafood broth. I still wanted a bit of his, though.

I leaned over the table and put my face in the bowl, and noisily drank as much as I could before he pulled me away.

-Ha ha! A bit cosy here, eh? Me fallin' in the bowl! Cosy.

My uncle gave me a cross-eyed stare and meekly agreed. He smiled at me blankly until I had to look away.