Sunday 31 January

The ghost appeared today. That was my Swiss neighbors’ name for the mysterious person that occupies the room I want. Seemingly, a guy from Taiwan rents the room but stays with his girlfriend and this week his sister is visiting temporarily. So after this week, there might be hope. The corridor is really good otherwise and I have got used to my room, my cleaning lady and my yellow walls.

It is time to say something about Canadians. The last week I have come across some really loud Americans. Talking about nothing in a voice that assures them that all the world can hear them, and no one else can have a conversation in the room. My bad. They happened to be Canadians. Is that the case: Europe is invaded by Canadian tourist posing as Americans to give their neighbours a bad reputation. Or is it only our ignorance that makes us believe that anyone with a Northamerican accent is American, prejudiced about the myth of Bush-like Americans? I know better. I am in love with the living proof that Canadians and Americans are not the same. Still, it takes all kinds of all nations. There are quite a few Brits and Suedes that I would not like to share a corridor with. I probably am one of those myself to many others. However the Swiss and the German guys in my corridor are the best one could hope for.

This did however not affect my plans for the day. I went back to Austin Reed to look at some casual trousers. Shocking news ahead: I bought two pairs of jeans - and two other pairs as well. Then I went upstairs to check the suit out again. A Northamerican guy was working that day and did not seem interested in helping at all. When I referred to the conversation with the manager about the extra pair of trousers he said assertively: “Sorry Sir, that’s not possible.” When I repeated what had been said and done he continued: “Well, the manager doesn’t always know what he is talking about”. “He did”, I said, “and I heard him making the call. Is he working tomorrow?” “You won’t get any other answer, no matter who you ask, sir”, he insisted. “But I did, just two days ago.” I was really a bothersome customer. “Well, there must be a mistake. It simply can’t be done, sir”, he concluded. To assure me, he called for the other shop assistant working that day, who said “Well, XXX has connections we don’t and if you return tomorrow he will be here.” So asked him to set the suits aside, but he said he couldn’t do it since they were on sale. I retorted that the manager had done it, but he wouldn’t do it. Then when I paid for the trousers I had picked out, I asked: “You have a Northamerican accent. Are you by any chance Canadian?” He looked up, surprised. “How observant. Yes I am. Most people think I’m American.” I was about to get a new set of prejudices that I didn’t feel comfortable with. Canadians are supposed to be friendly, down-to-earth elk-hunting, bacon eaters, aren’t they?

The library at the University is open till 23.45 Sunday evenings. I may get accustomed to some things about Oxford life.