I don’t know about you, but I need me a hot cuppa tea.
Several exciting highlights of the weekend included:
Saturday’s move-a-thon, where I spent my afternoon and a good chunk of the evening helping friends John and Tina move into their vast and lovely farmhouse in Burlington, and then off to Paul’s birthday party in the evening at the Duke of Gloucester. Saturday was the official Day of Bad Transport. I got lost in the labyrinthine same-name corridors near Dundas & Keele, wandering about in befuddlement looking for “Indian Road”. Instead I found “Indian Grove” and “Indian Road Crescent“, and was almost about to throw in the towel when I stumbled upon the right street.
Later that evening, completely forgetting where the hell the Duke of G. was, I had Amy drop me off on the north side of the Eaton’s Centre, and then proceeded to walk up Yonge all the way to the Church of Scientology, just south of Bloor. ‘Cause that’s where the pub is. At the end of the evening, after experiencing the same Craig Burnatowski shock as
DOWNTOWN public transit, that is. Apparently, in the Wilds of Weston, all buses stop at 1:20am on Saturdays, which means I missed the last ride home by about 5 minutes. So, I used what little money I had to get a cab part of the way home, then walked the rest of the way in the scary, scary darkness. I really wish I had better night vision. Or ANY night vision.
Sunday was very quiet.
Tonight, I’m stopping to have a quick ‘catch-up’ coffee with Alastair before I head home. Then on Thursday, dinner with