Day 2 in Canada started with me hand washing my underwear at 5am (jet lag) and putting on my free 100% nylon t-shirt that was probably big enough to sleep a family of four. Well at least it would keep my arse warm.

I'd never ironed a pair of socks before, so that was a new experience, but ironing things was the only way to dry them out after handwashing them in the shower. I was ravenously hungry too, and the small packet of biscuits in my hotel room hadn't done much other than set my stomach rumbling. I have a naturally pretty high metabolism (or hollow legs as my gran used to say), so I was determined to get out into the city and find something to eat.

But before I did that I wanted to check on my luggage, so once my socks had stopped steaming I found my way back to the reception desk and was greeted by a pleasant lady with a smile an orthodontist would have been proud to have pinned to his wall.

"Good morning. Can I help you sir?"

"Good morning. Yes, I hope so. Hopefully my luggage will be arriving at some point either today or tomorrow. Would you be able to keep an eye out for it please?"

"Certainly sir. Not a great start to your trip, sorry about that."

"No worries, I'm sure it'll turn up at some point. But first I need some breakfast and a coffee, preferably something strong, black and mildly corrosive."

"Now that I can help you with sir."

I got about four hundred yards from the hotel and found the Tim Horton's coffee shop as directed. It was still only about seven o'clock on Sunday morning at this point, and I'd not realised that the TTC didn't start running until nine. Well the subway part at least.

I was happy with the Toronto subway, it made sense, ran on a grid and was rather clean, and of course I'd had the personal guidance of the inestimable Winston the night before so I was brimming with confidence about using it again. Buses don't always make sense to me for some reason. So, once I'd polished off my breakfast, Brian decided to walk south for a bit and see the city.

What a smashing idea.

I like walking, but Toronto is massive. And flat. And made up of lots and lots of chunks of concrete.*

* - the pavements/sidewalks in Toronto are cast in sections and each one is dated by year by the company who installed them. Sometimes they have neat little design around the date too, which I assume varies depending on who the contractor is who installed them. The oldest chunk of concrete I've seen is dated 1954, and is located in a side-street by the Wattpad office in downtown Toronto. The few colleagues I've pointed this out to usually give me a funny look for some reason.

I used to work in construction, give me a break.

After walking for a couple of hours I needed breakfast version two. Version one in Tim Hortons had been a cup of coffee and a biscuit,** but after heading vaguely south down Yonge Street***, I'd burned off the calories from the scone and was busting for a pee.

** - it was not a biscuit. It was a scone. But at the time I was more interested in eating it than worrying about making a semantic point about what it was called.

*** - apparently the longest street in the world. Bloody felt like it at the time too.

The walk did at least keep me warm, but as soon as the subway opened I was on it and riding south. Bugger the walking. My aim was to be a tourist for the day, so I was heading for the big pointy thing called the CN Tower. Apparently this rises over five hundred and fifty metres into the air, and was the tallest free-standing structure in the city from 1975 until 2007 (thank you internet). But I wanted to go and stand on the glass floor and I also needed to buy a t-shirt that wasn't 100% Nylon and wasn't going to electrocute me with static.

A short time later after riding the immaculate TTC subway, I staggered back up onto street level at King and Yonge and within a hundred yards had found the Over Easy restaurant where I sat for some time filling up on eggs, bacon, and many other fried things, as well as enjoying what appeared to be a flask of coffee with the same inner dimensions as the Tardis.

Toronto has a wonderful diversity of food, and indeed people, and over the years I've tried (fairly successfully) to eat as many different things as I can and probably talk to as many random strangers as possible too. But that morning, a fry up was most definitely in order and the waitress seemed vaguely impressed (it may've been mild disgust) when I mentioned that it was breakfast version two.

The city itself is pretty easy to navigate. It's on a grid that runs roughly north-south, east-west. Hills are rare. If you hit the lake you've gone too far south, and if you're lost you simply look for the big pointy thing and you know where you are (or ask a friendly Canadian). So, after breakfast I walked south on Yonge for a little bit more, then saw the big pointy thing.

I don't usually do all the touristy stuff when I go places. I prefer to find my own way, see what I want to see, get happily lost in alleys and side streets, and talk to interesting people about what they think is cool in the city rather than follow the rest of the sheep (sorry, tourists). But on Day 2 in Toronto I went full grockle****. 

**** - a grockle is the local Devonian term for a tourist. In Cornwall they're called Emmits. In both counties, if they're in your way, they're usually called pillocks (other unsavoury names are also available).

I followed an interesting group of people who were all wearing blue until I got to a baseball ground, saw another group of people dressed in a different colour heading the same way, got briefly caught in the middle of some friendly banter between the two groups (and it was friendly too - in the UK, had that been a football match it probably would've been a mass street brawl. This is why I prefer rugby, much more friendly), then carried on towards the big pointy thing.

After being divested of a large proportion of my life savings by the smiling person at the pointy thing's reception desk, I entered a very speedy lift*****, and found myself spat out at the top of the CN Tower. 

***** - or elevator, depends on whether you call something a biscuit or a scone, or a sidewalk or pavement probably

The view was kinda cool, and I spent a happy hour or so wandering around looking at Toronto from a considerable height. Cities are always better at height as you can't see the people, although I have to say that the people in Toronto are fabulous. It's one of the few large cities that I truly enjoy spending time in, but that first trip was special. There was a dusting of prickly snow, the lake was frozen into grinding plates of ice that hustled for space against the foreshore, and the air was icily clear.

And inside was a special bit of flooring. The glass floor is surprisingly large in area, and when you're standing on it you get to look down the entire height of the tower and see the gentle curve of the concerete as it joins the ground. I think my favourite moment was when a group of teenage girls gently eased their way into the middle of it, all holding hands then opened their eyes and grinned at each other. One, who was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, happened to catch my eye, grinned even more and then started jumping up and down like a loon, laughing like a drain as all her friends screamed in horror and ran off the glass leaving her alone in a fit of giggles and clutching her ribs.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around the downtown area, found a little pub under the Flatiron building (a place I ended up in again many years later with a group of colleagues), had lunch and a pint of beer, and wandered down to the lakeside to watch the shifting ice which was mesmerising.

But it was too cold to stand still for too long so I decided to head back up to North York and find something to eat. First though I realised I couldn't face having to handwash my t-shirt for my first day in the office and so found a shop to buy a T-shirt. I had of course left it a little late, and the only place I could find open was a somewhat touristy joint where I picked up the only T-shirt they had in my size then wandered back to the hotel.

"Evening sir, how can I help you?"

"Hi, I was just wondering if my luggage had been delivered?"

"No sir, not yet. But I'm on duty tomorrow so I'll definitely keep an eye out for it."

"Thank you."

"Do you have enough clothes to be getting on with sir?"

"Yes. I bought this earlier."

"Ah... it's very nice sir."

"No, it's bloomin' horrible, but thank you for being so nice."

"I'm paid to be nice sir."

"True, but you can be honest."

She grinned. "It's a truly horrible T-shirt sir."

"Correct. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Have a good evening sir."