I groan as my alarm goes off at 7:30 am, I text Ruiyu, asking if she is still good for a Skype call but secretly hoping for some extra hours of sleep. Vvvvttt…vvvttt… I snatch my phone “Yesh Please” she replies along with two ridiculously happy emojis, how can I say no to her. I get up, my joints creaking and my head mumbling, awkwardly I stumble into my trackies. Gavin also starts making a move, clambering down the bunk bed ladder. In my sleepy state, I get aggravated, thinking he is making a break for the bathroom.

I dash into the bathroom before Gavin, relieving myself as if a malevolent demon was chasing me. Flushing the toilet I get myself in order before vacating the area, but he doesn’t shoot in after me. I’m not sure of his game. I pay him no mind, not even making any eye contact with him. I sit down, flipping open my laptop and booting up Skype. Within seconds, the familiar Skype ringtone sounds. Ruiyu pops up on screen in her dark green pyjamas, a smile spread across her cheeks. “Happy Birthday Handsome” she declares, she is too hyper and delusional for how I am feeling, but it still manages to bring a smile to my face. I switch my gaze towards Gavin, who starts crashing around in the fridge, producing a large container wrapped in a brown paper bag. He slouches over towards me pulling back the paper to reveal a customised birthday cake. A snowboarding sloth occupies the top…. I laugh! And instantly see Ruiyu’s face light up. She has been a romance ninja, in cahoots with Gavin the whole time. Task complete, Gavin quickly scurries off back to bed.

High on the cake and my early morning phone call, I make my way to the mountain for a few hours of boarding. The slopes are pristine coated in untouched powder and supported by a glorious bluebird sky. I take advantage of the early morning start to complete a few gladded runs interspersed with park runs over jumps, prolonging my morning high.

I get back to the flat around midday; Gavin is lying on the couch, sifting through articles on his phone. Upon my arrival, he greets me with a happy birthday and darts off to the bedroom to reveal my birthday present. I am more than slightly nervous. He pulls a massive box from the cupboard. I am utterly speechless. I have no clue what it could be. I start preemptively guessing, “Is it a massive pint glass again? A huge fucking dildo, you wanker!?”, Gav laughs and shrugs it off (He has prior on the inappropriate gifts). I get the scissors to hand and start dissecting the box. Once inside I notice a smaller, triangular box behind a forest of scrunched up paper. I instantly realise what it is. A guitar! "haha Yas!", I hug Gav and thank him for the gift. I wasn’t sure about bringing my guitar here, but now I have my very own travelling guitar. Gavin smiles, joking that he now has a guitar player to accompany him on harmonica. 

As the bus departure time approaches, I swiftly jump in the shower to freshen up before donning on the prize kilt and getting my bag ready for the night ahead. We are going to see the Ice Hockey in Vancouver. I pack a spare change of clothes along with more than a few travelling beers. The bus journey was quick due to drinking surreptitious tinnies and the lighthearted banter that goes with drinking in the mid-afternoon. We roll passed towering mountain ranges, through rundown lakeside towns and peer over old quarries, before arriving at the jutting skyscrapers of Vancouver.

I had booked us a hotel close to Gastown; the original settlement that blossomed into Vancouver from a single saloon. We travelled by taxi to the hotel on East Hasting Street. As we were moving, the glass towers disappear, and we notice a massive increase in demolished wrecks and boarded up property. The homeless litter the street, pushing shopping trolleys full of their worldly possessions to destinations unknown. We eventually arrive at the Budget Inn (appropriately named this time), a hotel that has definitely seen better days. The hotel is doused in a madman-esk atmosphere, clinging to its battered and dusty 70’s décor. Outdated furniture is sprawled around the room from a cast iron cigarette machine to a vinyl player encased in a cream bubble, which entertains the lobby seating area. At one time, this old wreck of a building would have been something. Checked in, we ride the rickety old lift up to the room, avoiding exposed pipework in the hallways as we go.

Once we drop our things off, we make a move for Gastown for some tactical munch before the sesh-ion begins. The straight road from the hotel into Gastown composed almost entirely of down and outs. Folk living under a plastic tarpaulin, heating spoons in broad daylight or hawking what little they have or have stolen on the street sidewalk. I feel uneasy. We are outnumbered and with the kilts, stand out like sore thumbs. A Hispanic looking man shouts at us “HEY, Heyyy you. Go back to your own fucking country!!” I suppress the laughter at his ironic statement, walking straight on; no one wants an unnecessary stab wound. 

The closer we get to Gastown, the fewer vagrants we see. More and more extravagant restaurants and designer shops start to surface. I start thinking we had lost them before I stumble into a soldier operating deep behind enemy lines. At first, I confuse this man as a street performer, but soon realise he is mentally unstable, a mistake easily made. He starts his act by chucking a brick about, watching intensely as it lands. Before picking it up and repeating the routine. He then proceeds to worship a tree, bowing before it, before furiously manhandling and making out with his newfound wooden friend. A Chinese couple stops to take pictures of him. 

We follow the couple that was just ahead of us into the nearest restaurant. The place is hoaching. It is Valentine’s day sure enough. The couple, ahead of us are shown to a table, which the waiter claims to be “the best seats in the house”. On his return, I ask if we could have the second best seats in the house. He smirks and says that will not be possible, showing us to a communal table. We are seated next to two other Canadian lads dressed in sports gear, who, as they put it, ditched their girlfriends for the Ice Hockey too.

They are excitable dudes that seem to get a thrill out of recommending the best snowboarding mountains and bars to hit up in Vancouver. They ask us where we were staying and laugh, saying “some Valentine’s Day for you guys. That’s the roughest area in Vancouver.” We could tell. They go on to explain that it was mostly due to the de-institutionalisation of the mentally ill along with various failed social housing projects. “It’s safe as fuck though, you can walk down there pissed at night, and no one would say a fucking thing,” he says. I guess this is to do with the Canadian politeness; even the junkies and mental cases are polite. “They’re also good for getting cheap, stolen goods”, he holds open his jacket...”Fifty bucks, this cost me”. I laugh, he seemed so proud of himself when he said it. “I’ve got a guy, he can literally get me anything”, he looks from me to Gavin waiting in vain for one of us to rinse him with praise and jump at him, asking him for hook-ups for stolen goods.

After initiating a conversation about the Mayweather V McGregor fight, the two Canadians get into a thirty-minute argument about whether boxing or the UFC was more physically intense. We leave them to it focusing on eradicating the million matchstick chips overflowing our plates. After getting advice from the Canadians, we make sure to slam a few more beers before the game before squaring up the bill. Leaving, we say adios to our communal table neighbours. I whine to Gav on the way out, “You never take me anywhere nice!”

We make it to the Stadium, just to see the start of the game. It was the clash of the Titans: The Vancouver Canucks versus the Florida Pirates, a rivalry of the ages, I have been assured. The game itself is fast-paced, and we get into the spirit quickly, chanting along with the crowds, “let’s go blue jays!” CLAP CLAP, CLAP CLAP CLAP. Heads turn as Gav, and I are using the chant of a baseball team on the other side of Canada! The alcohol may be getting to me yet.

The game is very start-stop, leading to a comfortable life for the “athletes”. The game halts every twenty minutes for fifteen minutes of advertisements. The break does allow us to reload our oversized beers and take stock of purchases for the future. During the fifteen minutes of downtime, there are also various public raffles and camera games. The camera runs through the crowd, stopping on whom else but our Canadian dinner guests. They are far too busy arguing among themselves to notice the local fame that was being bestowed upon them; no doubt still on the McGregor V Mayweather topic. 

Following the mass exodus after the defeat of the Colossal Canucks, we travel uptown, diving into the closest bar we can find. With the warm confidence that comes with alcohol, we immediately sit with a big miss-mashed group of British Immigrants. Much merry-making and shots soon follow. The rest of the night seems a blur as we crawl from various bar to bar meeting a Kevin Smith look-a-like, a Saxophone junkie that could rival the New York Subway Band and quail farmers from Vancouver Island (who also seemed to dabble in marijuana cultivation). 

The night comes to a stop in an Irish pinball bar after the quail farmers introduce me to the infamous Canadian reefer. Gavin is slowly growing colder believing he has been stricken with alcohol poisoning. “Alright man, let’s go,” I say, tutting and handing out my terms and conditions, “but you need to smuggle my pint out for me ”. It was just as well we left. I was becoming a liability. The weed had jumped me, leading me to lag behind the conversation, springing up answers to questions well after the moment had passed as well as helping me invent some pretty illegal dance moves.

The walk is blacked out from my mind. However, I arrived safe and sound in the hotel, so I assume everything went well. I sit smoking at the window, calling any poor soul I see online while Gavin lays cold, shaking under his duvet. The chain-smoking continues a while as I inform Gav, “this is my last aine” while drawing a new one out of the packet. Eventually, my mind gives up and I call it a night, poorly coordinating myself under my duvet. Overall it has been a shite Valentine’s day, but it has been a rather spectacular birthday!