While planning a getaway from the hustle and bustle of England's everyday rat race... I find myself annually booking a random trip to somewhere remote in Canada. For many reasons, mainly the following; the calm, warm lakes for canoeing, deep enough to catch cat fish fresh for the BBQ, singing with live guitar in front of a roaring fire, the red plastic cups notorious for Canadians it seems, big enough to hold a whole bottle of Blue (the reason being evident) right down to the stars in the sky..... bright enough to light up the entire landscape and easy to spot the shooting ones. My great Canadian memory was in 2016 at Rice Lake, the day the local farmer girl, drove a perfectly prepared pig, which we kindly named Percy, by trailor and in its own made rotisserie oven. 7 smokey, mouth watering hours later the camp was alight and hungry mouths, we then gathered in quiet, respectful prayer for Percy. This had to be the best BBQ pig I'd ever had and one of my fondest memories of Canada. After the feast, with not a scrap remaining, we unanimously decided that we would never 'name' an animal prepared for our dinner table, ever again.