The Canadians got this (wo)man

We're all branded.
I'm a Brit, so I'm supposed to be reserved (haaa!) and superior. If you're American, then you're brash and boastful (allegedly). French? You're rude. Italian? The same. Irish? A right laugh. Australian? A bit raw round the edges but a good sort. Scottish? Totally incomprehensible but hospitable. And the Canadians? For some reason they're boring. Everyone says so, so it must be true.

I've lost count of the number of times when helping visitors in London find what they're looking for (and providing an impromptu history lesson because I always go the extra mile for Brand Britain) I've been asked if I'm British. And on replying in the affirmative they always look surprised, because I'm "open", "friendly", "loud" and so on. They have an expectation. An expectation based on folklore. On a single encounter, or a second, third, fourth-hand experience. So then we're all branded as being this or that. It's all bunkum, of course. Well, for the most part.

Walking though Mayfair recently I bumped into these three Canadian Naval Officers and being struck by their smartness, I asked if I might take a photo of them. They obligingly stopped, but the chap on the far left (being the most junior of the three) seemed to be unsure as to whether he was required. On spying that his name was, Pile, I told him to 'pile-in', which they though was hilarious. They were such funny chaps and good sports. So when I teasingly asked them which part of the States they were from, they faked a flounce. So funny. The most senior chap leading the other two guffawing guys off and leaving the alfresco diners who had watched the scene unfold in giggle-fits. Not so boring after all then. 

And so the moral of the story is two-fold:
1. Every encounter matters.
2. I must stop picking up sailors in Mayfair.

Pile-in, Pile (left).

"States!" "We're outta here!" Nice chaps.