Back in 1999, I was off on my first serious trip to Canada; I was anxious to leave the country for a while, anxious because I was dying on my feet in this god-forsaken, dream-killing, conformity prison.
I'd been released from all treatment by chemical cosh, and the first thing I did was get the hell out.
At Leeds co-op, they suddenly ran out of travel insurance, so it cost extra to arrange that(legal requirement to entry); at Manchester, there was the usual old man in the corner murmuring "So it's Canada then!"
WTF?
Then, sitting on the plane (a 'Royal' A320) the British security people came on board to check my passport. Only mine.
But, they let me go. The law apparently protects citizens to some extent.
I got to Canada.
I was taken aside by the border officials. A guy asked me questions. Then, because he was Canadian, (and therefore Human), he saw my camera and said "If you're going to take pictures, you should take a trip to Niagara. It's really beautiful this time of year!" He even smiled.
And I was let go into big, warm, Toronto.
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